


Of All The Gin Joints In All The World

by semi_sweet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abuse of Power, Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - No Band, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bartender AU, Bartender Patrick, Bartender Pete, Cuddling, Facials, I've never been to Chicago Google helped me so don't give me grief, IKEA, M/M, Oral Sex, Pete apparently spends a lot of time in IKEA, Smut, Srar era, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, bc I always shout out kass, but like, disgusting fluff, i guess, i still can't tag, shoutout to kass, so cheesy I'm gonna cry, the abusive relationship isn't between Pete and Patrick just a heads up, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semi_sweet/pseuds/semi_sweet
Summary: They crashed into each other.Maybe like waves.Maybe like an accident.Maybe that wasn’t for them to decide.





	1. "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

**Author's Note:**

> YIKES I can neither tag nor summarize, there is a reason writing blurbs is a literal profession, okay?  
> What are you doing, uploading ANOTHER fic when you have an unfinished one and a load of One-shots to write? Let me live, okay? I got this idea at like 3 a. m. a few weeks ago, and I feel really inspired to write this (which is why there hasn't been an update on anything else - sorry, there will be).  
> This is like 85% finished, I have the entire plot, I just need to write like... two chapters or so and then I'm done. We'll see when we get there.  
> Also I have exams in two weeks and should NOT be writing but what can I say? Nothing, I have nothing to defend myself with and I will regret this fuck. Anyway. Enough with the rambling. Please Kudos if you like it and drop me a comment or two, yeah? Like, Writing without feedback is so disheartening.  
> Also it's worth noting that I'm taking all my chapter titles from Casablanca which is where the title of Gin Joints comes from.

Pete had worked long and hard to get to the top. Well, not quite the top. But nearly top. And he hadn’t really worked all that long either. Or all that hard. But he had worked long, hard things, so that amounted to pretty much the same in his mind.

Basically Pete Wentz had blown the right dudes to land him a job at the Aviary, making over-priced cocktails for way too rich, old, white middle-class men all week so he could go out and spend his money on reasonably-priced and better cocktails at the weekend. He was used to desperate, 40-something women trying to flirt their way either into his pants or into a free drink, so far, none were successful. He was not, however, prepared for the blond dude in a cheap suit that showed up one Thursday night whilst Pete was scrubbing the bar with a black-haired chick on his arm, who was comically taller than him.

“Uh, a Jungle Bird and a Whiskey please.” He sounded overwhelmed, not in a way where he was in awe of the setting that was clearly not his usual sort of milieu, more in a way where he’d had enough of the day. “What kind of whiskey can I get you, sir?” Pete inquired, trying to hide the fact that he was studying the woman next to him. She was tall, slim and stereotypically beautiful. If Pete batted for that side, he would probably have found her cleavage at least as enticing as her date seemed to, although he currently was paying more attention to the menu behind the bar than to her, blue eyes darting across the lines Pete’s co-worker had so carefully written out earlier that day.

“I don’t know, strong and dry and lots of it.” Pete couldn’t suppress the chuckle he gave at that. This dude was relatable. He whipped up the cocktail, adding extra strawberries to the little cocktail stick hoping to make up for whatever mistake this guy had made that meant he was spending way over his budget on a girl who wasn’t talking to him. He filled a glass with a double-serving of High West and put both drinks on the bar with his best barman smile. “Cheers,” the guy said and Pete’s eyes widened as he pretty much knocked it back in one. He bit back the comment he wanted to make about how the dude would be better off with a few shots of cheap Tequila to drink away his sorrows.

“How much do I owe you?” The guy had his wallet in his hand, filled with nothing but a credit card, an ID and a $50 bill. Pete decided to charge him less than the actual price, he wasn’t sure why, he’d probably get in trouble for it, but this dude was already having a rough evening by the looks of things. His customer handed him the bill and told him to keep the change, surprising Pete with a more than generous tip.

He wasn’t sure when they left, or how it had gone, Pete had looked over to them at one point in the evening and seen the stools were empty. He found himself rooting for the blond guy, he had no idea why, he just had a feeling he was a good fellow.

-

“Pete, hurry the fuck up!” Gabe’s stupid face appeared around the side of the door frame and Pete hastily pulled up his much too tight jeans. “Chill out, dude! It’s only 10 p. m., we’re gonna have plenty of time.” He hadn’t worn eyeliner in years but it somehow felt appropriate for the occasion. Unfortunately, he was out of practice when it came to the application, so it had cost him about 20 minutes. “Fuckin everybody arrives at 11, I don’t wanna end up in a queue with a load of 17-year-olds that’re arguing with the bouncer. It’s gonna be packed, man, people have been waiting for this for three fucking years!.”

What Gabe meant was, he’d been waiting for the re-opening of Berlin for three fucking years. Frankly, Pete thought they were getting a little old to be hanging out at gay clubs on a Saturday night, but Gabe had made the rather poignant point that they were both single and Pete hadn’t got laid for _moths_. And honestly, gross as it made him feel, Pete couldn’t resist the promise of a nice ass. People were gonna be horny as fuck tonight.

He fastened up his jeans – way too tight in all the wrong places, he’d put weight on – and pulled on a pair of sneakers.  
Gabe’s outfit couldn’t look more stereotypically _gay dude trying to get laid_ , tight leather pants paired with a fishnet top and space boots. Man, fucking _space boots_. Pete raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Dude, don’t judge me! It’s opening night and you’re going in looking like a dad!” Pete had pulled on a very, _very_ colourful short-sleeved button-up over his black skinny jeans that would probably (hopefully) attract looks without seeming too obnoxious. Then again, Gabe would attract a tonne of guys, Pete could take his pick from the ones that got blown off. “Ready?”

“Sure, let’s do this.” Pete hoped there would be somebody else over 30 so he didn’t seem quite so dad-ish. Still, at least he wasn’t the one flashing his nipples.

\--

The club was… full. Not as bad as Gabe had anticipated, they got in with ease, but full none the less. And, to Pete’s horror, it was filled with kids. Under-25s, that was. Pete felt like a grandpa with his 34 years. Like a creepy grandpa. “Oh, come on! Live a little!” Gabe had shouted from the bench he was sitting on, a younger boy in his lap, when Pete had politely shook his head at the advances made by a guy who looked about 18. If he was lucky. “I don’t wanna end up in jail for statutory rape, Gabriel. I’m too old for this.” Pete just caught his flatmate rolling his eyes in the darkness of the corner he was in. The room was dark, save some lasers, a blacklight that bathed everything in a slightly blue-ish tinge and made Gabe’s stupid neon bracelets stand out even more, and the light flooding from behind the bar. Pete made his way towards it, definitely needing some more alcohol in his system if he was planning on staying here any longer without losing his mind.

It was empty, save the two girls making heart-eyes at each other and the four dudes doing vodka shots. Pete stood as far away from the other people as he could get, waiting for somebody to notice him.

“Oh, hi again!” Pete did a double-take at the familiar face smiling at him from behind the counter. He knew this guy from somewhere. Where had he seen him?  
“What can I get you?” Pete tore his eyes away from the bartender and looked at the menu propped against the wall. “Uh, I, uh-“

“Strong, dry whiskey, maybe?” _Oh._

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn’t… I couldn’t think where we’d met.” The guy waved it off with a smile, “it’s fine, I mean, I know what it’s like. Too many faces on the other side of the bar to remember every single one. So, what can I get you?” Pete settled for a Caipirinha and watched as the bartender filled the glass. “You been working here long?” Pete could have slapped himself the second the words escaped him and it immediately gained him a raised eyebrow. “This is the opening day.” Where was a trapdoor when you needed one? “I-I, uh, mean… did you work here before it closed?” He shook his head, “no, I worked smaller bars. Just for the money, y’know. But I figured out, hey, gotta do something with my life, might as well do this. At least I’m good at it.” He bit back a bitter laugh. “Not your dream job then?”

He shook his head. “No, I, uh, I make music. Kinda. I mean, I try to, it just… doesn’t really pay bills, y’know? Kinda tricky.” He shook his head to snap himself out of the mindspace Pete could see him slip into as he handed Pete his drink. Pete wasn’t sure why he took it off him instead of letting him just put it on the bar. He wasn’t sure why he lingered when their fingers brushed. He wasn’t sure why he experienced a sinking feeling when the hand under his was snatched away quickly. “Sorry.”

“Patrick, by the way. My name is Patrick.” Pete took the hand that had been held out for him and shook it. “Pete.” Pete offered his most blinding grin, probably enhanced by the lighting. “You come here alone?” Patrick was leaning on the bar in front of him. “No, my uh… friend is here somewhere.” Pete glanced around and caught sight of Gabe making out _very intensively_ with the boy that looked a little too young to be here. “That him?” Patrick asked. He was chewing on some peanuts he’d taken from the bowl on the counter. Pete wouldn’t trust those peanuts, but hey. “Yeah, that’s Gabe.” Patrick snorted. “Gabe. Suits him. I guess.”

Pete turned back to him and looked him up and down as discreetly as he could. He was short, really short. That girl he’d been with evidently hadn’t been as tall as she’d seemed. He was wearing black jeans and a plain, maroon t-shirt, topped off with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. “Are you checking me out?” Pete felt his cheeks flush and he made himself meet Patrick’s eyes. “N-no, I was just-“ what exactly _was_ he doing? “Sorry. I’m not on offer.” Pete shrugged like it didn’t sting just a tiny bit. “Did you and your girlfriend sort things out then?” Patrick paused for a second and his expression slipped ever so slightly, betraying him. “Yeah.” Bullshit. Pete didn’t press the matter. He also ignored the fact that he had a _girl_ friend. Dude could still be into guys.

“What music do you make?” Patrick’s face obviously lit up, a topic he was much keener on, it seemed. “Oh, this and that. Anything, really. Like I’m totally into this weird synth-pop thing Prince and MJ had going on, yeah? So that’s fun, but I’ve done, like, some pop-punk stuff and some rock stuff. And people tell me I have a soul-voice, though I’ve never done soul before, I should maybe try that out.” And he was off, Pete didn’t know how long Patrick raved about his favourite artists, the best albums, how much he loved the new guitar he’d found at the back of some downtown music shop. Pete knew a little about music, being more of a lyrics guy himself, he played a bit of bass and was in a band at high school, but that was about it. He didn’t have the heart to shut Patrick up though. And frankly, the little guy had enough to talk about that Pete didn’t need to offer any conversation material.

He sat talking to Patrick into the small hours, their topic of conversation jumping from music to 80s movies, to tv shows, to the new Star Wars, to dogs, to art and back. Pete ended up finding out more about Patrick in the three hours they talked than he had about Gabe in his entire life. He also ended up spending about $60 on cocktails and feeling a little light-headed by the time the bar closed down as a result.

Gabe had disappeared an hour earlier, dropping by to let Pete know he wouldn’t be in tonight before swaggering off with another guy, thankfully one that looked about his age for once, but Pete had stayed behind and talked to Patrick.

“I’ve gotta clean up here, nice meeting you, Pete. Drop by again, yeah?” Patrick grinned at him, dampened cloth in hand. “Oh, I can wait for you.” A frown shot across Patrick’s face for a fraction of a second, but he caught himself quickly and nodded. “Sure. If you want.” He started scrubbing the sticky counter and gathering up the loose serviettes people had left floating around before sealing up the bottles of alcohol on the back wall and shutting off the taps.

Patrick stopped by the wardrobe on the way out and gathered up a leather jacket and a fedora, which he immediately balanced on his head. It looked kinda cute. “So, what’re you gonna do, walk me home?” Patrick teased once they got outside. “Depends where you need to go.”

“Glenview.”

“Oh, I’m Wilmette! We can go some of the way together.” Patrick’s eyebrows shot up, “Some of the way being to Howard.” Pete nodded. They got on different trains on that station but up to that point, they could enjoy each other’s company. “Okay, sure, why not.”

Patrick had lost his talkative streak that had made conversation so easy earlier, and Pete was struggling to find something they hadn’t already discussed. “So, why Chicago?” Patrick just shrugged, “Dunno, I was born here, it’s what I’m used to, I guess. Kinda wanna move into the city, kinda wanna stay in the ‘burbs.”  
“Mh, definitely better for families, right?” Pete didn’t know why he kept addressing the matter. “I guess.” Patrick said, more to his shoes than to him.

They got off at Howard and Pete went to offer his hand, but was pulled into a familiar hug instead. It was… honestly the best hug he’d ever got. Patrick held him tight and close, like he meant it, heat radiating off his body and dampening any negative thoughts. “Good to meet you, Pete. See you round?”  
“Yeah, with Gabe dragging me to the club every fucking weekend I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid each other,” Pete replied lightly. Patrick smiled and waved goodbye to him before hopping onto his train.

\--

Gabe was already at home when Pete came skulking out of his room the next morning. Well, afternoon. At least he’d changed into jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. “You’re up early!” Pete scowled at his mocking tone. He was hungover. He wasn’t sure _how_ , he hadn’t had _that_ much to drink. Okay, he’d had a bit. But stretched out over a long enough period. And he hadn’t felt that drunk. Fuck his old body, seriously. “When the fuck did you get in?” he murmured at his flatmate, who was in a much too good mood for Pete’s liking. “10. Had a good time, if you know what I mean.” Gabe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Pete groaned disapprovingly. Yes, he knew what Gabe was like in bed. Not from personal experience, but because of the thin walls of their apartment.

“What about you?” Pete shrugged, “five, maybe, I dunno.”

“Oh my god, did you get laid? Was it that bartender? The short blond one? I’ve never managed to chat up a bartender, dude, you’re one ahead of me.”

“No, I w-“

“How was it? Was it good? Does he have a nice ass? Or did he make use of your nice ass?” Why the hell Gabe always wanted to know the details was beyond Pete. “We just talked, damn it.”

“Mmh, I know what that means.” Gabe made an obscene gesture involving his mouth, his tongue and his fist and Pete rolled his eyes, “Jesus, Gabe.”

“Oh come on, I know you get off on sucking dick, don’t tell me you didn’t suck him off.”  
“I didn’t suck him off, dude. There wasn’t… anything. We didn’t even kiss. I don’t think we came into physical contact once. No, we hugged. That’s as exciting as it gets.” Gabe stopped asking stupid questions and went on to annoying questions, “dude, you were, like, totally into him, why didn’t you? Li-“ Pete smacked his palm onto the table and set his own headache off again. “Gabe I swear to fuck, if you tell me to ‘live a little’ one more time, I’m moving out and leaving you with my rent. He has a girlfriend.”

Pete somehow ended up telling Gabe the entire story of Patrick showing up in the Aviary in his cheap suit with the tall-but-not-so-tall brunette on his arm. “You are _so_ into him, man.”

“No, I’m not. He’s kinda cute, but nothing amazing, y’know. I’m fine. Or, I will be if you leave me alone now.” Pete pointedly shovelled a spoonful of Kaptn Krunch into his mouth and did his best to blend Gabe out. At least he didn’t have any work to go to that evening, that was something.

Pete ended up barricading himself in his room, oblivious to the outside world – save that one time Gabe slammed the front door shut and when he went to collect the Pizza from the delivery dude – writing. He wrote a lot. It wasn’t good, most of it hot air and fillers, occasionally he’d feel proud of something he’d comprised and put it on his blog, but the laziness of commenters was kinda de-motivating, so he didn’t do it often. He way as well be writing for a brick wall.

A lot of the stuff Pete wrote sounded as though he was still in his phase of teenage angst, that had somehow lasted until he’d been 29, some of it sounded down-right vicious and was the kind of shit that would definitely land him in jail if he was ever a suspect in a murder case. Then again, if it was Gabe’s murder case, he’d probably be rightfully sentenced.

But sometimes, it sounded profound, almost poetic or mature.

 

_I’ve been dying to tell you anything you wanna hear_

_‘Cause that’s just who I am this week._

_Oh, don’t mind me, I’m watching you two from the closet,_

_Wishing to be the friction in your jeans._

_Isn’t it messed up how I’m just dying to be her?_

_We’re always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team._

 

It was usually best _not_ to question where these words came from.

\--

Pete’s week was pretty uneventful, save that one evening Gary Sinise walked in, which had Pete’s nerd-brain totally freaking out and nearly smashing the gin. Thankfully nobody seemed to have noticed.

He found himself hoping for Patrick to turn up, and even though he knew it was wishful thinking, he was still disappointed when he closed the bar Friday night and not a single blond guy under 5’8’’ had turned up.

Gabe was out when he got home, probably partying. He felt a little jealous at the thought of Gabe being at the Berlin whilst he was cooped up in front of his TV with a cold pizza and a warm beer. Something about that was the wrong way round. Pete flicked the set off with a sigh and went to change into a white button-down, but sticking with his regular jeans rather than the ass-clenching skinny ones. He wasn’t looking to get laid, after all.

Yes, Patrick was… cute. But he was also off-limits. And Pete liked him enough to be able to look over the fact that he found that a little disappointing if it meant he might gain a good friend out of it. He found _Gabe_ attractive for heaven’s sake, and he still wouldn’t fuck him. Actually ew, no, he didn’t even wanna imagine fucking him, who knew where Gabriel Saporta had had his dick last night. No, Pete liked Patrick, he liked him a lot, he was a nice, funny dude and something about him warmed Pete from the inside.

He felt a little dumb queueing on his own, usually he had his flatmate’s stupid comments to entertain him until a bouncer who didn’t give a shit about an old dude’s ID let him in. He was wearing a khaki bomber jacket, his shoulders pulled up to his ears as he tried not to feel awkward amongst the 20-somethings chattering around him. At least they seemed a little older on average today.

The second he got in, Pete shrugged his jacket off and tied it around his waist as he made a beeline to the bar. He didn’t even know if Patrick was working, this was a really dumb idea. Not being able to spot him, he uncomfortably perched on one of the black plastic stools, regretting all the decisions he had made in life that had got him to this point.

He told the dark-haired dude with the comically large forehead he wanted a Pina Colada and forehead started fancifully flipping bottles. It would be way more impressive if Pete didn’t know this was about as basic as it got when it came to bar tricks. Pete awkwardly sipped his drink through the straw as forehead dried glasses, that action evidently required all of his concentration, going by the deep-set frown on his face.

Relief washed over him when he spotted a mop of blond hair emerge from the staff toilets, and Patrick smiled warmly when their eyes met. “Hey!” Pete felt the need to hug him, but bending over the bar didn’t exactly seem the most suave of moves, so he settled for a weird handshake instead. “Didn’t think you’d show up today, it’s already 1 a. m. and I haven’t even spotted Gabe.” The way Patrick lifted himself onto his tip-toes to be able to scan the room behind Pete was illegally cute. “I don’t know if Gabe is here,” Pete explained, “but he’s out _somewhere_ and I was bored and lonely.” He immediately wanted to faceplant onto the nearest road. “That sounded really fucking creepy and not at all what I meant, I just meant I fancied a chat.” Patrick was giggling and looked up at Pete from under his fringe. “Anything specific you wanna talk about?”

“No, not really. I didn’t see you this week.”

“Oh come on, Pete. You know I can’t afford the kind of fancy-ass bars you work at. That was a one-off. If you wanna see me, you’ll have to come here, I’m afraid. Although, when I first saw you in that nice tux serving over-priced drinks with your tidy hair, I had you down as a middle-class, straight, white dude.” Patrick said, almost passively.

“I’m not white.” Pete quickly jumped in. since he’d been given shit for having cornrows a few years ago because everybody presumed he was being a white dick, he was kinda sensitive about that subject. “And you’re not straight either, 20 points from Hufflepuff.”

Of course he was Hufflepuff, how could he be anything else? “Hey, I know that look! It’s _oh, you’re from the potato house_ , well, Cedric Diggory was a Hufflepuff and he was fucking badass.” Pete raised his hands in defence, “no anti-Hufflepuff-bias here. Kindness and loyalty don’t sound like bad traits to me. And they give mean hugs.” Patrick shrugged the compliment off and instead asked Pete what house he’d been kicked into. “Gryffindor, my dude.” He took a swig of his drink to emphasize the statement. “Really? I had you down as a Ravenclaw. Oh well, 10 more points from Hufflepuff.”

“Why Ravenclaw?” Patrick looked at his feet and flushed a little. “Come on, I’m intrigued, why Ravenclaw?”  
“I dunno, I just… I dunno, thought you were like the nerdy dreamer. I mean, maybe not, first impressions can be wrong and that but-“

“No,” Pete interrupted his ramblings, “no I like that. Maybe I am Ravenclaw at heart and am one of those rare cases that got misplaced. Who knows.” Patrick didn’t reply to that, he just turned around and pointlessly started re-arranging the bottles on the wall. “I mean,” Pete tried to lighten the mood, “I do write. Like, words.”

The other man’s face lit up as he spun around. “Like, stories?”

“Well, mo-“

“Patrick!” Their heads whipped around in the direction of forehead. “Get some fucking work done and stop with the puppy eyes, it’s pitiful.” Patrick seemed to only just notice the two guys standing on Pete’s side of the counter, wanting to place their orders.

Pete watched as Patrick mixed the cocktails, not attempting any fanciful tricks or twists and just concocting the best drinks he could offer. One of the dudes leaned against the bar and bit his lip, Pete didn’t have to take a wild stab in the dark to figure out he was staring at Patrick’s ass. He wouldn’t allow his own eyes to slip there.

“Here you go, that’s five dol-“ his eyes widened when the dude grabbed Patrick’s hand and pinned it to the wood his glass was standing on. “You’re wearing a little too much for this place, don’t you think?”

Patrick laughed nervously, shooting Pete a quick glance. “I’m here for work, not pleasure. I feel appropriately dressed.” The man raised an eyebrow in forehead’s direction, who was wearing a tank-top that didn’t do much to cover his chest and a pair of tight shorts. “Well I like to do my job _professionally_ and I don’t need to use my body to attract customers.”

“Oh, isn’t that what this is?”

“We’re just friends,” Pete interjected. He felt the sting of strange eyes on his skin, but he didn’t meet them. “Hm, sure.”

Thankfully, they turned away and left at that.

“Wow that was… wow.”

“That by far isn’t the worst I’ve gotten.” Patrick was pulling a disgusted face that made Pete chuckle. “Thanks for swooping in there, I was seriously worried I’d end up stripping on that pole over there if he hadn’t let go of me.” Pete waved it off, “don’t mention it. Besides, I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yeah, but you look more intimidating than me.” He nearly choked on his Pina Colada at that. “Dude, I’m like 5’6’’.”

“Yeah and I’m 5’4’’, like, my point stands.”

“5’4’’, for real?” Patrick glared at him “do you wanna see my fucking passport?”

“Well, it would give away your surname.” The snort Patrick let out was simultaneously ugly and endearing. “You could just fucking ask. Y’know what, I’ll give you my number, too. Maybe we could get together and we could write sometime? I don’t know if you do, like, poetry, but I don’t like my lyrics and maybe-“ Pete nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, definitely, I mean, I was gonna say before, I’m more into writing poetry anyway, so, that’s good. And I’d love to hear your music.” A blush crept over the blonde’s cheeks, “Okay, just, uh, give me your phone and I’ll type it all in.”

His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he tapped around on the screen and Pete almost snatched it from him when Patrick handed it back, keen to find out his full name. “How do I pronounce that? Stumf?”

“No, just… just Stump. If I ever miraculously get famous, I should probably just drop the h. Send me a text with your name and number?”

Pete did as he was told and seconds later, a small _bing_ sounded from behind the bar.

“Wentz. Like, Carson Wentz?” Pete shrugged. He didn’t know or care, really. “It’s just a name.”

“It’s a cool name. sounds cool. Better than ‘Stump’ do you know how many tree jokes I get, if I hear one more, I’ll fucking lie underneath one until it falls and crushes me.” Pete didn’t understand how Patrick made him laugh so easily, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it because his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Gabe. He stuck a finger in his ear as he answered it.

_“Where the fuck are you, man, I just got home and it’s empty, did you really move out?”_

God, Gabe, acts all tough and devil-may-care, but he’s the most dependant dude Pete has ever met and he sounded like a lost puppy.

“No, I’m just hanging with Patrick.”

_“It’s three in the morning, we’re going furniture shopping tomorrow morning, get your ass home now!”_ Oh shit he’d forgotten about that.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’ll be right back. See ya.”

Pete apologetically looked at Patrick who was shaking up some drink. “Gotta go, sorry, I have plans tomorrow morning that I totally forgot about and Gabriel will give me grief if I cancel.” Patrick’s expression dropped a little but he played it off like he didn’t have a problem with it. “Sure, it’s late anyway, I’ll be clearing things up in the next half hour.”

“Sure you can make it home alone?” Pete teased and Patrick replied with a pissed-off expression. “Yes, Peter, I can get home on my own, even though I’m only 29.” His full name made Pete recoil in disgust, which in turn painted a grin on Patrick’s face, so what was the downside? “call me, yeah?” Pete nodded before turning away, but he didn’t leave without hearing foreheads mocking “call me,” and Patrick’s “shut the fuck up, Brendon.”

\--

Focussing all his concentration on what colour the curtains needed to be helped Pete blend out Gabe’s endless string of babbling to a point where he at least didn’t feel the urge to murder him with the nearest desk chair. He was surprisingly awake considering he’d been out until all hours, having just missed a train, he’d had to wait forever and had only got four hours of sleep before the human alarm clock he lived with had started loudly singing.

It was a Saturday, which meant IKEA was packed and it was quite possibly the worst time they could have picked to come, but plans were plans and Pete wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Gabe had been continuously filling the shopping cart from the minute they’d walked in with unnecessary bits and bobs, stuff they would never need but he was expected to spend time and money on. Whatever. If it made Gabe happy.

“So how did your date go?” He piped up when he strolled towards Pete, arms loaded up with cushions nobody had asked for. “How many times? He has a girlfriend, we’re not… y’know what, doesn’t matter. We’re friends, make of that what you will.” Gabe shrugged, “yeah but you said that she’d been pissed at him about something, maybe he won’t have a girlfriend for much longer.” The suggestive eyebrow-wiggle nearly got him slapped, “I’m not praying for the end of my friend’s relationship, let alone sabotaging it. Drop it, Gabriel.”

“Wow, you’ve known him for, what, a week? And you’re already defending him more than you ever defended me. Stings a little, dude.” Pete knew Gabe was teasing. Years of living with him had refined his Gabe-sensors to the point where he could pretty much read his mind. “Patrick didn’t wake me up with off-key singing this morning.” Was all he shot back. “Well whatever you say, dude, I just don’t know if buddying it out is a good thing.” He forced his attention onto the array of duvet covers dangling in front of him, eyes swimming with the blues and greens surrounding him as he tried to focus on anything but Gabe’s stupidly taunting words in his mind. The material was too soft for Pete’s liking, it slipped through his fingers like water over rocks and giving him no hold. He never understood why people liked silk sheets, they offered no grip, no security, the risk of waking up on the floor was too big. It was too soft.

“Pete, are you fucking listening?”

“Huh?” he whipped his head around, but didn’t let go of the material. Gabe laughed obnoxiously and when Pete managed to escape the silk cage covering him, a few people were staring. A trap door would come in handy about now. “I said I’m away until Wednesday. Bill’s throwing a party in NY and guess who’s gonna be crashing it.” If Pete hadn’t been preoccupied with trying not to die of shame, he would have rolled his eyes and told Gabe to leave the kid alone, but that didn’t seem like his problem right now. “So, like, don’t trash the place… are you gonna put that back?” he felt the cover being taken from him and watched as his flatmate folded it and dumped it on top of a pile of a different design. “Oh for god’s sake, don’t act like you just killed a puppy, Pete! Come on, let’s get out of here.”

-

Gabe pretty much watched him put up the grey curtains they’d ended up getting because they were cheap, occupying his usual spot on the bench by their dinner table as he scrolled through stuff on his phone, occasionally chuckling when something tickled his amusement. Pete hadn’t really expected anything else, Gabe was lazy at the best of times and downright idle for the rest of it, so the fact that he was the one battling with a screw that kept bending wasn’t at all surprising.

“Hey, did you know Joe got married? You two used to be close, yeah?” Pete shrugged, “haven’t seen him in a while. He’s a good dude though.” Gabe hummed to himself. “Shame that band didn’t work out, you were good, you three.” Yes, Joe, Andy and him, they hadn’t actually been too bad! Got a few playable songs down, were all good enough at their instruments to keep a crowd for an hour, and got along. There had just been one problem, “can’t really be much of a band without a decent vocalist. It was just a little fucking around during college or whatever.” He waved it off.

“Wow, you should see her, she’s stunning! Damn, looked like a lit wedding, why the fuck wasn’t I invited?”

“Maybe because you met exactly once and that ended in him having to forcefully drag you out of his own apartment because you were waving your dick around whilst projectile vomiting everywhere?” That had been… an experience. Gabe didn’t reply to that, for once he didn’t seem to have a smart-ass comment to shoot back, so he changed topic. “what are you gonna do without me?”

“Dunno. Sleep. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Binge-watch Orange Is The New Black. Eat pizza. We’ll see.”  
“Dude you need to-“

“Gabriel Saporta, you tell me one more time to ‘live a little’ and I will tear your balls off with my bare hands.”  
\--

It was a little intimidating; the pristine cleanliness and tidiness of the house. It wouldn’t look lived in were it not for the photographs decorating the walls. Even they looked forced. Pete’s eyes lingered a second to long on the one next to the stairs, the still unnamed dark-haired woman being kissed on the cheek by a very, very blond Patrick. It wasn’t a bad look actually, but his scruffy mane looked misplaced next to her sleek, shiny, straight, black, flowing hair. It was a selfie somewhere outdoors, with a backdrop Pete probably should recognize but didn’t.

“So, my, uh, studio’s this way.” Patrick was scratching the back of his neck when Pete tore his eyes away from the picture. He looked out of place with his tatty slippers and his cheap shirt as Pete followed him down the corridor and into the basement. It felt wrong, being shut away down there, in a tiny back room that was so full of instruments and gear Pete could barely stand, but when he asked what Patrick was doing cooped up in the cold, musty cellar, he just shrugged and sat down behind a keyboard.

“Did you, uh, bring anything?” He asked, somehow already warming up a little, and Pete pulled out his tatty black notebook and a folder filled with messy notes he’d scribbled down on waste paper, napkins, bills, anything, really. Patrick’s eyes visibly widened as he took in the sheer amount of words presented to him, and Pete caught him muttering “good god” under his breath. “Well, I guess we won’t have a shortage of lyrics, can I?” The notebook was pressed into his open palm, Pete wanted him to read the less random and messy ones at first, not that they were any good, but bad was a step up from dog shite.

He chewed his bottom lip nervously as Patrick scanned the letter, face contorted to a frown of concentration, he flipped back and forth, reading and re-reading until he put it down on the stand in front of him and let his fingers hover over the keys a second before starting a tune.

Okay, so Pete liked Patrick, he was a chill guy and he was kinda cute, though he was currently working on ignoring that, and could mix drinks like a fiend, but it was only when _his_ words left Patrick’s mouth, when they were sung in Patrick’s voice, _that voice_ , that it hit him full-blow that he had struck gold that night he’d dragged himself away from an underage kid and towards the bar in a gay club way outside of his demographic.

Patrick had somehow shuffled some of the words so they made sense, singing about burning bridges and burying in memory and breaking hearts, all things he’d written years and years ago and forgotten about, the kind of stuff Pete used to write about when he was a man he didn’t think Patrick would have liked, filled with anger and jealousy and a lot of uncontrolled emotions.

Now he was mess, but chill about it and had figured out that telling people to kill themselves because he was having a rough day maybe wasn’t the best way to deal with stuff.

What baffled him the most, and what left him gaping like a goldfish, was that _voice_. “Dude,” he stammered once Patrick had finished and was nervously fidgeting in front of him, “you can… sing!” He just shrugged, “I mean, I try…”

“Okay, no, for real, you should be, like, singing, like a pro or whatever, people deserve to hear that voice, man that’s… wow, what the _fuck_ Patrick,” he felt oddly angry that Patrick hadn’t let him know about this any sooner. Pete also noticed Patrick was giving him a slightly freaked-out-yet-concerned look, “no, no, sorry, getting carried away, I just mean… you’re good, okay? Like, real good!”

Patrick smiled and looked down at his feet. “Thanks, I guess, I mean, I’ve done a few performances here and there, just with a guitar or whatever.”

“Where?”

Patrick hesitated, “uh, like, small clubs. Just background music and stuff, not like anybody wanted me there or came just to watch me, yeah, just a bit of extra cash…” Pete could tell there was something he wasn’t being told, but he decided not to push for it, he was already close to overstepping the boundary of acceptable weirdness for today.

Pete watched as Patrick continued to flick through his notes, sometimes scribbling things down, drawing arrows and underlining stuff, trying to piece together whatever Pete’s brain had puked up. He sat on the floor, content with just observing with a little smile on his face as Patrick experimentally toyed with the keys. He was so immersed in his own head, he practically had a heart attack when a voice came from right behind him.

“Babe, I’m home. You done here soon?” Pete looked up at the dark-haired woman who still didn’t have a name and wanted to introduce himself, but she didn’t even glance at him. The music stopped and Pete turned to see Patrick smiling at her, “yeah, sure, I’ll be right up.” She didn’t acknowledge Pete before she left and he had to force himself not to scoff at the stranger he didn’t like.

Patrick was sorting the paper back into stacks and handing them back to him before Pete could get off the floor. Once they reached the front door, Pete turned around again “I had a good time, really! We should do this again!” Patrick smiled at him and nodded silently. Pete was just a little disappointed when he was offered a handshake instead of a hug.


	2. Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis I, queen of procrastination. So I've nearly finished writing it now and it's a lot longe than I'd planned there may be 5 Chapters, or I might still split it into 4, we shall see. Leave Kudos and comments please, I appreciate it very much :)

The best thing about Pete’s job was the eavesdropping. He could probably make a fortune blackmailing various customers with the nature of information he had gathered. This wasn’t _the_ rich and powerful bar, but there was the occasional CEO of a local company or a C-list celeb looking for cheap booze to drink away the reminder that all they were was a walking joke. He’d be lying if he said he gave a shit about any of them, but the entertainment they offered was more than any of his co-workers could give him, most of which he didn’t even know by name, because, well, he didn’t care.

Okay, so he may have cheated a little to get to this position in life, but he sure as hell was good at it. Pete knew what he could and couldn’t do, and he knew what people wanted to see. He knew when to flip and fling bottles around to impress a group of drunk girls and when to seem more high-end and professional than he actually was for a white dude having a midlife crisis.

Work was work.

Pleasure was pleasure.

He kept them strictly separate.

Until that one day he overheard a conversation between two men, one of whom he was pretty certain he should probably know, leaning against the bar just in front of him.

The reason it caught his interest wasn’t because of some juicy gossip he could sell to the nearest rag if he wanted to – he never did, just knowing that he could made him feel more powerful than he actually was – but because it actually might affect him. Well, not him. Patrick. Which, in turn, would affect him.

It had been six months since they’d first met, more or less to the day. Pete hadn’t seen his friend a lot lately, he’d been working overtime to try and splurge on a bigger apartment, preferably on his own this time, and, well, Patrick had a job, too, he’d taken on more hours at the Berlin, Pete had tried his best to convince him not to give up on music just yet, but he’d responded with a shrug and an explanation circling around a shit-tonne of unpaid bills, so he stopped arguing.

On nights he wasn’t working at a gay bar, he was playing at a different one. Pete understood he’d received offers to play at his usual workplace, but Patrick had scrunched his nose at the thought of it, not wanting to taint his image of the clean, professional barman by turning into an entertainer. Pete didn’t see how performing at a regular bar was any different, but he guessed it was a similar approach to him keeping work and pleasure strictly separate. Besides, he didn’t think Patrick would fit into the scene, his music, sure, everybody loved a bit of mostly-great-sometimes-bad white funk, but Patrick himself… no, not with his image.

So Pete hadn’t seen much of his friend recently, they’d occasionally send a few texts back and forth and Pete had bumped into him in target the other day, but otherwise, they were too busy with themselves to pay anybody else much attention.

Now, however, at the mention of the search for somebody to write a movie score, Patrick was the first thing his mind jumped to. He knew he couldn’t jump into the conversation, he couldn’t let people know he listened to them, he couldn’t scare customers away like that, certainly not the rich and famous, which these dudes probably were, he just wasn’t sure how. But Pete did it anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he started, cautiously, in his best gentleman-voice. The men turned to him. He felt intimidated. “It’s not my place, I know, but I couldn’t help but overhear you say you need somebody to write you a score?” He felt dumb as the men carefully inspected him and he hoped the bead of sweat on his forehead wasn’t too obvious. Fucking anxiety. The guy to his right shuffled around on the stool until he was facing Pete, elbows resting on the dark wood of the bar. “Yes. We are. Why, do you happen to know somebody?” He couldn’t help the grin that split his face, “as a matter of fact, yes I do.”

-

Pete was perched on a wall at the side of the road, his feet just shy of the ground, dangling aimlessly, the tips of his trainers occasionally brushing the gravel below. He had a boy of donuts balanced next to him, twelve, way too many for two people, I they were going to be sensible, but Pete was pretty certain that Patrick would not want to be sensible. Either he was going to eat away the disappointment or eat to celebrate. Either was good for him, he didn’t mind. He just hoped they would hurry up in there.

Pete fished his phone out of his pocket and began scrolling down his twitter feed, he never really interacted with anybody, just used it for stalking celebrities and the odd ex here and there. Nothing interesting.

He was halfway down his Instagram feed when he noticed the pair of black boots planted firmly between his own feet. Pete lifted his gaze off his screen and up to meet Patrick’s. he tried to ignore the little leap his heart made when he was greeted by the biggest smile he’s ever seen. Before Pete could even ask how it had gone, he felt himself being engulfed in the biggest hug imaginable.

Patrick gave bone-crushing hugs. The type that made you feel safe and wanted, not like he was doing it for any other reason than to show you you meant something to him. Pete appreciated that. “Thank you, thank you thank you!” Pete found himself smiling at how over the moon Patrick was about this, and when they finally broke apart, it was like the sun was shining from his eyes. It was mesmerising. “I take it it went well, then?”

Patrick nodded enthusiastically. “It’s only small, like, nothing big, I’ll have to work at the bar, still, but I’ll get _some_ money out of this, I have a proper job and I signed a contract and everything and this is all new and exciting, and Pete, I’m _making money_ with music! And not just a few loose pennies and a free beer, either!” He was practically skipping. Pete ignored the sensation of his heart swelling. Patrick’s eyes widened again when he was presented with the donuts.

“Wow, you are literally the best. Thank you so much!” He grabbed one of the ones filled with pudding and ungraciously shoved it into his mouth, bliss painted on his features. A smirk was playing at Pete’s lips. “Walk?” The response was muffled behind the sticky food spilling from his mouth, but Pete knew he’d agreed. They walked off past the iron gate and into the park behind it.

Attempting conversation was pointless whilst his friend was still engrossed in his not-meal, so Pete soon sat them both down on a bench in the hope of getting Patrick to finish sooner. He really wanted a chat.

Gabe had found out about his plans to move out a few days ago, and since then, he’d gone cold. All Pete got was the occasional glare, maybe a few words if it was really necessary. He’d probably get over it. He usually did. Gabe just enjoyed a good sulk.

Patrick, however, was pretty much the most forgiving person Pete had ever met. He never had a bad word to say about anybody, and even when he did occasionally complain about someone, he’d feel bad about it and spend the next hour explaining that they weren’t a bad person, they just annoyed him sometimes. Sometimes it was his brother, sometimes his mum,  usually Brendon, though. Or forehead, as Pete still lovingly called him.

Patrick was one of those refreshing people that, no matter what his mood was, no matter how bad the day had been, no matter how much time they’d spent together, he always managed to make feel Pete a little better with some dumb piece of trivia, or an obscure 80s movie reference, or even just by sitting next to him on a park bench, tucking into a box of donuts. He could eat a lot for such a tiny dude.

“So what _exactly_ is it you are doing?” Patrick wiggled his eyebrows and tapped his nose, swallowing the mouthful of donut before only saying “NDA, my dude.” Pete rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you can trust me, you know that.” All he got in return was a shrug, “still, if it should get out, I wanna be 100% certain that nobody can accuse me of anything. It’s… it’s good, Pete, that’s all I’m saying.”  
“What, and you’ve still gotta work at that shitty bar? If it’s _that_ good?” another shrug, but this time, Patrick didn’t say anything, he just focussed all his concentration on the donut. “How did you end up working in a gay bar, anyway? Do you even like men?” Pete gave himself a mental pat on the back for finally dropping the question, after six months of friendship. Actually, he knew very little factual information about Patrick.

He was 29. He worked as a bartender. He played every instrument under the sun. he had an odd obsession with anything from the 80s. He had a girlfriend he never talked about. He lived in a house in Glenview. He was a crazily good songwriter. He hadn’t yet ditched Pete as a friend despite having read some of his more questionable poems. He desperately wanted a dog. He only owned about three fedoras because he was picky about the brim. He hated most barbecue sauce. He had an affinity to butterscotch. He spent way too much money on vinyl considering he always complained about being broke. That was about it.

Patrick shot him a _come on, really?_ look, which Pete wasn’t quite sure how to interpret, so he made sure to frown pointedly. “Do you honestly think they’d employ me if I didn’t like men? Really?” A grin split Pete’s face. “Don’t fucking give me that, Pete, uh uh, we’re not going there.” He just wiggled his eyebrows, knowing exactly that Patrick was aware of the question burning on his tongue. “Verse, okay? I’m fucking verse. Can we not have this conversation. Please.” He seemed grumpy, but honestly, Patrick grumpy was just fucking cute. “You still didn’t answer my first question, though.”

“Uh?”

“How did you get the job?” For some reason, his cheeks suddenly flared up bright red and Patrick seemed overly fascinated by his shoes. “Oh my god, is there an origin story here? How embarrassing is it? Did you suck dick to get there? Which is fine, by the way, I’m not saying I haven’t done that myself, but you ju-“

“Jesus Pete, no, I didn’t suck anybody’s dick. Well, not for a job…” Pete nearly choked on nothing, “no, I uh…” he trailed off, leaving the answer floating in the void as he grabbed for another donut. He was now onto the ones Pete had actually got for himself, but whatever. “Oh come on, I just pretty much told you I blew my way to the top, what could be worse than that? I mean, aside from actually fucking anybody. Oh my god, did you fuck anybody?” Patrick’s face contorted in disgust and he shook his head. Pete tutted and leaned back. “Well how bad could it be, then? There aren’t many more options outside of bribery and stripping.” He nearly missed Patrick’s flinch. Nearly.

His curiosity peaked, he leaned forward until he could see Patrick’s bright red cheeks beneath his fedora and he knew he’d won. “Oh my god, no way, who did you do it for?” he shuffled uncomfortably, Pete probably shouldn’t be pushing him, but he was intrigued at this point. “Well, my boss is, like, 70 and honestly kinda gross _and_ I think he’s married, so whoever you took your clothes off for, how bad can it be? Tricky, Tricky, Tricky, Tricky, come on, please, please tell me, Triiiick, come on, please, come o-“

“Everybody! Okay?! Fucking everybody!” An annoyed mother looked up at Patrick, scowling at him for swearing so loudly near her child, and a dog started barking. Pete froze. Patrick had never yelled like that. Patrick never even raised his voice. Even when he was pissy about a song he couldn’t get right, he’d huff and puff and complain, but he never, ever shouted.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he took deep breaths. Pete cautiously reached out to stroke his back, but he pulled away. “I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… pushed it, I.”  
Patrick sighed, “yeah, well, you know now. I used to… dance. Long time ago. Needed money. What else do you wanna know? Actually, don’t ask. I’m going home.”

Pete didn’t know how to apologize. He wasn’t good with apologies, even though he needed them often. He just sat in silence as Patrick dumped the half-empty donut box on his lap and got up with a huff before strutting off without saying goodbye.

The second he was out of sight, Pete let out a low groan and smacked an open palm against his forehead. Fucking stupid. So fucking dumb.

_See Pete, this is why you don’t have any friends._

He got up and headed home soon after, leaving the donuts for greedy pigeons.

-

The next two weeks were absolute hell. Pete hadn’t felt this bad in a long, long time. Specifically, he hadn’t felt this bad since he’d come off meds.

During his prescription days, he’d been angry. He’d been angry, all the time. When he hadn’t been angry, he’d been apathetic, which was almost worse. It sent chills down his spine thinking of the people he’d wronged, the words he’d said, some of which must have really burned. Medicated Pete didn’t care about other people’s feelings. Medicated Pete wasn’t even aware of other people’s feelings. Medicated Pete only ever thought about himself, he was the center, everything revolved around him, and when it didn’t, it was wrong and had to be corrected. He wasn’t a black sheep. He was the black sheep. He was the single human on this earth to see society for what it really was, laughing at and mocking all the dumb idiots that blindly followed each other in circles, going round and round, running after some promise made by those who couldn’t keep it.

Pete wasn’t like that. Not anymore.

Not since he’d sat in a parking lot, and in his selfish frenzy, swallowed a handful of whatever the fuck had been in his glove compartment. When he’d woken up, his mother had been sitting by his hospital bed, bags under her eyes, her face tear-stained, her figure hunched over and weak.

He’d decided then that he couldn’t go on like that. The therapist Pete had gone to took him off medication, earning protest from all sides, but insisting it was better this way. The anger left. The frenzy and the cold returned, bouncing him between mania and depression. But it was better than apathy. And Pete found some stability in his job, it forced him to muddle through and it forced him to be okay. Sometimes he thought there must be better solutions, ones that didn’t only make him muddle through, but made him want to be okay. A dog, maybe. Or a kid.

Either way, Gabe would have to do for the time being.

But Gabe wasn’t talking to him. Shitty a flatmate as he may be, he’d always been there when Pete needed it. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been dragged out of bed on a bad day by his singing friend, or how many times Gabe had spotted him sinking away and broken out of the façade of ridiculous, always jolly, always stupid Gabe, and shown the sincerity behind it all, letting him know he wasn’t alone without forcing himself onto Pete.

But Gabe wasn’t talking to him. Pete wrote a lot, he got down half a pad of paper’s worth of lyrics, some of which he even considered copying into the notebook, but somehow, it seemed pointless when he had nobody to turn them into anything meaningful.

Patrick hadn’t been in touch, either. Pete was still scolding himself for being such an annoying, disrespectful piece of utter shit. Patrick had so obviously been uncomfortable telling him, why did he have to push for it? And what had he got out of it? Great, he knew his friend used to strip for a bar full of gay dudes, but it wasn’t even like he could enjoy that mental image because a) he had banned himself from thinking about Patrick like that a long time ago and b) he might lose one of the two friends he had on this planet because of it.

So all in all, Pete really, really wanted to not exist. He wasn’t even sure what to do about his situation, if he was having Gabe trouble, he’d ask Patrick for advice, if he was having Patrick trouble, he’d ask Gabe for advice, but he had no solution for Gabe-and-Patrick trouble. So he worked.

He worked a lot, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He worked for fourteen days straight, he could manage, it took his mind off things, and besides, he might just be able to afford that apartment he’d been eyeing by the end of next month if he carried on the way he was. So it wasn’t all bad. Just mostly.

The best thing was, he worked so late, by the time he got to bed, the sun would be rising and he’d have no darkness to fight against. But they days were getting shorter and Pete’s patience weaker, his nerves began to strain by the time he hit day sixteen of work.

Pete had never smashed a glass, not in the shitty clubs he’d worked at in his twenties, certainly not at the Aviary. He smashed two on day sixteen. The dude working his shift with him – Jon, Pete thought his name was, or maybe Joe – pulled him aside and gave him a pat on the back as he firmly instructed Pete to go home and get some fucking sleep. Pete was working on autopilot too much to be able to argue.

But he didn’t sleep. He lay awake, staring at the black ceiling, trying to convince his brain that he wasn’t seeing creatures from hell clawing their way into his room, and that the wardrobe by the door wasn’t an axe murderer. No, Pete didn’t sleep that night. Not for a second.

And maybe that was the reason for Gabe coming up to him the morning after, as Pete sat on a chair at their rickety old table, head drooping over his disgusting coffee. He just about managed to look up as his giraffe of a roommate flopped onto his usual spot across for him. “Hey, how’re you doing?” Pete shrugged. “Heard you come home early last night. You don’t look like you’ve slept much, though?” It was sincere Gabe, kind, caring Gabe, facing Pete right now. Pete shook his head. “You need to get to bed, man, you look fucking awful. I’d say no offence but there is no un-offensive way to say that.” As if Pete didn’t know that. He was kind of in his right mind to sulk, to give back to Gabe what he’d been given, but he was too tired and also too relieved that somebody was talking to him.

He didn’t say sorry. Gabe never said sorry. Pete was grateful for that. Pete never said sorry, either. Gabe knew that.  They knew when they’d apologized without apologizing. That was enough. It was enough for Pete.

-

The next time he saw Patrick, was a week later. Pete hadn’t thought simply being acknowledged by Gabe – who was now done with sulking and back to his usual annoying self – would make him so much better, but he was feeling more like post-meds Pete again. He’d not sought out Patrick yet, wanted to give it more time, wanted to give him the space he probably needed, but when he was in Starbucks a week later after being out all Saturday night with Gabe, he spotted a familiar little man wearing a familiar hat. Sitting at a table on his own, an open MacBook in front of him and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose like a 20-year-old hipster. Pete grabbed a serviette from the dispenser when he picked up his drink and flipped it so the logo was hidden, showing only the white side.

Patrick’s forehead scrunched into a frown when Pete waved it in front of his screen. He didn’t seem angry, only slightly annoyed when their gazes met. He wiggled the serviette a little more, trying to make the fact that it was supposed to be a peace flag more obvious. “Truce?” he offered. Patrick sighed and snapped his laptop closed. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Pete sat down opposite him, he was rubbing his forehead as though he was stressed, and when he looked up again, Pete could see lines drawn across his face that hadn’t been there three weeks ago. “You look exhausted, dude.” Patrick practically snorted at him, “tell me about it. Working two jobs is all fun and games until it costs you sleep.” As though to add emphasis, he yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth. “You need to sleep, Patrick. I’m glad you’ve got this job going, I really am, but don’t let your health slide.”

“Says the guys with the sugar in a cup.” Pete glanced at his drink, “That’s not the point.”

“I’m fine, Pete.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am, I’m fine.”

It was kinda thin ice, really, especially seeing as Pete had only just pushed Patrick so far they’d not spoken for weeks, but he cared about him. He cared maybe too much. So he took the risk. He carefully reached out, allowing Patrick enough time to shy away, but when he didn’t move, he took his hand and gently held it. It was shaking a little, whether from sleep deprivation, nerves or caffeine, he didn’t know.

When Pete looked up, Patrick was staring at him with big, blue eyes that made him melt.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine,” he said softly, so nobody could hear, even if they wanted to, “you don’t have to lie.”

He’d been prepared for a lot. He’d been prepared for Patrick to sigh and tell him what was bothering him, he’d been prepared for him to shrug it off, he’d been prepared for him to snatch his hand away and storm out, never to be seen again. He hadn’t been prepared for the tremble of Patrick’s lower lip and the tears that began pooling in his eyes. It was like somebody had shoved a hand into his gut and twisted. “Oh god, no, Patrick, no, no…” He sniffed quietly, rapidly blinking to stop the tears from flowing. “Do you wanna come to mine? And we can sit and watch StarWars, I even have Pringles, sour cream and onion, you like those, yeah?” Patrick nodded slightly. “Sound good to you?”

He trailed after Pete silently, his head hanging low and he let out the occasional sniffle as though to reassure him he was still there.

Gabe wasn’t in, thankfully, so they had the living room all to themselves without any sort of disturbance. Pete made sure to give Patrick the super-fluffy blanket and he nestled into the corner of the couch as Pete went to hunt for the Pringles he’d got last week that miraculously still hadn’t been eaten. He popped on the DVD and let himself fall next to his friend, who had turned himself into a soft human burrito.

It didn’t take long before he felt the weight of Patrick’s head against his shoulder and the sound of soft snoring filled the room, so Pete let him sleep as he watched C3PO and Chewbacca play chess.

The movie had been over a good half hour when Pete felt Patrick stir. He looked down to see Patrick blinking up at him lazily, a sleep crease across his cheek. He frowned briefly as he tried to figure out where he was and then sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Oh man, I slept through Star Wars, what the fuck.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, “feeling better?” Patrick nodded “yeah, thanks.” His hat was lying in Pete’s lap and his hair was so ruffled, he looked like a duckling, the sunlight seeping through the curtains Pete had pulled shut caught in his eyes and made them shine golden. _Fuck_ , shot through Pete’s mind, _I’m really not over him_.

His back cracked as he stretched and Pete winced, he hated the sound of joints cracking, but Patrick always forgot that, and he didn’t wanna have to remind him every time. He kinda thought that would be it, Patrick would gather his stuff and go home, leaving Pete to the emptiness of his apartment, but he tucked his feet underneath him and swirled round so they were facing each other.

Patrick sighed heavily and started picking at his fingernails. He was nervous about something, Pete could tell. “I guess…” his voice was husky, still layered with sleep, “seeing as you probably… have your image of me now, I should explain myself.” It took Pete a while to catch on, “no, no, Patrick, really, I don’t see you any differently, you really don’t need to explain a thing!” but he carried on anyway.

 

 

“I was 19, just left high school and that, was trying to get somewhere in music. I only really played drums at the time, I mean, I knew some, uh, some guitar and I’d sing for like demos or, or… whatever, but I was a drummer, pretty much, I was a drummer. I was in a few bands, none really did all that well, though, I mean, like, the most exciting thing that happened was we got to, we got to open for this semi-successful group, I don’t know what they were called anymore, there was three of them or something, y’know, they didn’t last, I don’t know, but people liked them, I guess. Anyway, I wasn’t paying any bills or anything, so… so, like... And my parents supported me and that, but they’re not exactly, like, Rothschilds, y’know, and I didn’t wanna be making any more trouble than I had to.

So I went to get a job. I worked at, like, a Burger King for a while, and even… even, even for Walmart for two years, but it was... I was doing less and less music and more and more tedious work that wasn’t really getting me anywhere, and like, and like I sort of just… let me tell you, working for a fast-food-joint isn’t something you wanna do your whole life. I got kinda… I got pretty depressive. Okay, it was real bad, actually. I don’t know if you’ve ever, if you’ve ever, ever had that feeling of the world leaving you behind, it’s like time is, is like racing past and… no, worse, around you, in, like, mocking circles, but so fast that you can’t grab it or anything, y’know. It was… a dark… I- I don’t wanna- anyway, when this guy approached me, saying he could offer me something that wouldn’t take much of my time and would get me money, I agreed without thinking much. Still not sure why he, like, approached me, specifically, or anything, I think he saw me, like, dancing when I was drunk once, or something, I dunno.”

I ended up a 21-year-old stripper, I mean, that’s fun, right?” Patrick laughed bitterly, “I never, I never slept with anybody. I was never like completely naked. I didn’t do any private dancing or any of that. I didn’t enjoy it, but at least it cleared my schedule and I did like, like… I could pick up a guitar again. I got back to writing, I auditioned for, for some groups, got into two, and, like, actually felt happy for a second there. I met Jane around that time. Honestly, she was so good to me, even when I told her about my job, I say job, well, she smiled and kissed me and said she didn’t mind, as long as I was happy, she was happy.

We got a house together and everything, I’m, like, the messiest dude in existence of anything ever, but she tidied up after me. I mean, I mean, she got real mad about it sometimes, but it was okay.

My band released and EP and I actually got a small amount of money – I don’t even know if it was over 100 bucks, but it was something, I guess, and I felt happy. I was so, so happy.”

Pete watched his friend study something in the distance he couldn’t see himself. When Patrick didn’t continue his story, Pete prompted him, “what happened?” the sigh he let out was heart wrenching, “the inevitable, I guess. We didn’t… we couldn’t find a permanent drummer, so it all went up in flames, a fucking huge argument, I don’t, I don’t really know what it was about, I wasn’t really involved in it, just had to live with the consequences. And… Jane and I, we, well, I…. I just, I kinda fell back into that pit of depression. I was already working as a bartender at that point, and I actually enjoyed that. I still enjoy it, really, but it… it was maybe one of my biggest mistakes, I dunno. I stopped loving her. It happens. There was no reason, I just woke up one morning, next to her, and realized she wasn’t everything. I was heartbroken, I totally was, falling out of love is, is, is… horrible. But I cried it out, I manned up and I told her. I said I couldn’t be with her, she cried, asked me why, but then accepted it when I said I didn’t know. I thought that was the worst of it.

“It must have somehow hit her harder than I’d realized, because next thing I know, her fucking dad, who had never bothered meeting me before, is on my toes about-“ Patrick paused to draw a deep, shuddering breath. His tempo had slowed a little when he carried on “about how I couldn’t leave her, and I kinda thought he was being dumb and they were empty threats, but oh god Pete, I’m so, so stupid.”

Pete gently stroked his friend’s back, who was now bent forward, elbows resting on his knees and his head being propped up by his clenched fists. “He was… I shoulda checked. This shit only happens in stories. God. He was my boss. Her dad, he was my boss. The ultimatum was ‘stay with my daughter or lose your job’ and I really needed the money.” Pete waited for Patrick to carry on, but he stayed quiet, so he wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders and pulled him close. Patrick’s head dropped against Pete’s neck and he sighed heavily, for about the thousandth time in the last half hour.

It was a lot to take in. Firstly, Pete hadn’t known the Berlin used to do strip shows, he might have gone more often back in the day if he’d been made aware of it. Secondly, Patrick was being bribed into a dead-end relationship, working a job with an abusive boss whilst simultaneously trying to juggle a second job, that was quickly turning into a full-time thing. Wow.

“You can stay here for a bit if you want, I’m sure Gabe won’t mind,” Pete offered, but Patrick shook his head and glanced at his phone screen. “I should be getting home. She’ll be wondering where I am.” It was with a heavy heart that Pete followed Patrick to the door and handed him his leather jacket with that obnoxious red lining. His head was hanging low and he resembled a kicked puppy, Pete really didn’t want to let him leave.

The words were out before he could stop them, “y’know, Trick, if you ever change your mind… I’ll be here.” Pete never intended for them to sound the way they did, but the second Patrick gave him a big-eyed look, somewhere between shock and surprise, it hit him. He tried to come up with an excuse, but his friend’s face twisted into a sympathetic smile and he nodded. “I know.”

Pete was too numb to say goodbye, or even close the door, so Patrick just waved as he pulled it shut behind him, leaving Pete to cringe at his existence alone.


	3. Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhh I took away the x/4 chapters because this thing escalated and it's quite a bit longer and I have no idea how I'm gonna split it up yet.  
> Also the title isn't very inspired, sorry, it's 4am and I've been working all day.  
> I have 6 exams next week so I just wanted to upload this before, sorry it's a bit shorter, it was the best break in the story.  
> Anyway, I'm happy about any Kudos and comments, thanks to anybody still reading this thing :) If you were put off by the developments last chapter, don't worry, there's still plenty of time to explain it all. (really. plenty. this was supposed to be a 15k thing, it's now longer than my main fic)

Gabe even helped with the boxes when Pete moved out two weeks later. It was a two-room apartment, the kitchen and living room “open plan”, according to the landlord, “small” according to Pete. But it would do, not like he had to share with anybody. Besides, as long as his ridiculously huge bed fit in the bedroom, he wasn’t gonna complain. “You’re seriously taking that?” His flatmate has asked with raised eyebrows as he’s watched Pete take it apart, “you don’t know who was in it, I can’t even believe you didn’t bring your own bed when we moved in.”

Pete didn’t see what the problem was, he’d got a new mattress, why couldn’t he keep the actual bed? It was huge and comfy and, best of all, free.

Gabe, apparently, had a new flatmate all ready, set to move in at the end of the month. Pete hadn’t met him, he didn’t care, really.

When the last box had been dumped in the kitchen – Gabe had actually stuck to his word and done about half the work for once – and his friend was in the hallway, ready to leave, Pete did start to feel a little emotional about it all. He remembered moving in with the lanky kid seven years ago, they’d not known each other and they’d never met up before they’d actually signed the contract, which was kind of a dumb move, but, 7 a. m. singing and sex that bled through bedroom walls aside, Gabe had been a damned good friend to him. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage without his gross omelettes he’d whip up in an attempt to cheer Pete up when he was having one of his worse days.

When Gabe forced a smile onto his face, it all became a little too real for Pete. He swatted away the hand that had been held out to him and pulled his friend into a tight embrace. He couldn’t see the single tear that was making its way down Pete’s face this way, and besides, a good hug was long overdue. They weren’t exactly cuddly friends.

The large hands on his back pressing them closer together felt more like home than anything had in a long time, and for a second, Pete questioned whether he was making the right choice. He didn’t even really know _why_ he was moving, it just… felt like he had to at this point.

“Stay in touch, Wentz, or I will be back here singing at 3 a. m. every night, yeah?” Pete jokingly sneered at him, “fuck off man, is this Disney?” He had a feeling the snort he got in return wasn’t because his joke had been good. “I’ll stay in touch. Pinkie promise.” They linked their little fingers, Pete’s almost comically tiny next to Gabe’s.

He grinned when he got in the elevator, and just before the doors slid shut, he said: “See, now I kinda hope you don’t so I can cut off your finger.”

Pete trailed back to his apartment, shaking his head at the ground.

Gabe wasn’t half bad.

-

Patrick called by that evening, he turned up unannounced, a messy chocolate cake in his arms. Pete was halfway through setting up his closed when the doorbell rang and he hoped Patrick didn’t mind the boxes littering the place as he picked his way across to the kitchen counter. He went rummaging through the kitchen drawers Pete had thankfully already filled until he produced a large knife destined to get covered in chocolatey goo.

Pete decided then and there that he was never getting donuts again, in future, if Patrick wanted to be fed sweet stuff, he’d have to make it himself, and include some for Pete, too. It was a total mess, Pete ended up covered in runny chocolate, but boy, was it worth it.  
“Kinda small, don’t you think?” Patrick was eyeing the patch of mould above Pete’s head with a sceptical expression. “Mmh, but it’s just me now, yanno. I’m a small dude, I don’t need as much space.” He could deal with mould. Patrick shrugged and looked around the room. So far, Pete had set up the table they were sitting at, four chairs, two of which they were sitting on, and his sofa. The kitchen was a bit of a mess, the bedroom still pretty bare because he couldn’t do anything until that wardrobe was up, but he’d make it work.

“You’re gonna need, like, stuff on the walls if you wanna make it look homely, y’know. The trick, and this is, like, something most people don’t, they don’t, like, realize it, so they just kinda pretty much, umh, ignore it, is always the walls!” Pete raised his eyebrows and decided not to comment on the awkwardness of the photos decorating Patrick’s won home, because he kinda knew who was right here.  
Pete had never bothered with decorations that much in his old flat, you don’t need to put as much into making a place feel like home when you have another person there to help you with that.

“I’ve got a shelf for over there”, he indicated the bit of wall between the door to the bedroom and the door to the bathroom, “gonna put some bottles on it, just to highlight the fact that I spend my life surrounded by alcohol.” Patrick chuckled at that remark, “yeah, tell me about it.”

“Well”, Pete started, knowing full well it was a turn of phrase, but wanting to wind Patrick up nonetheless, “you make a lot of over-priced drinks for a lot of very drunk people. The trick is, you see, that you fill the glass with ice first, so the drink is, like, smaller than it seems, then make the alcohol you use sound fancy, a pretentious name shoots the, the, like, the price right up” Patrick was rolling his eyes at this point, “and the same with the juice. Dead ordinary juice from a carton is honestly all you need for most cocktails, put it in a glass bottle and they’ll believe it’s ambrosia, y’know. All in all it’s fun, though stupid tricks and spins just cost time and most people don’t care really. You get a whole catalogue full of gossip and news, god the stories I could tell you….” Patrick nodded his head from side to side as though he was considering it. “The best days, though, are the ones where you meet people you wanna meet.” Their gazes locked. Pete couldn’t read his expression anymore, so he carried on. “Most people aren’t all that interesting, they may be important or famous, or they might do interesting things, but _they_ aren’t interesting. But once in a while, some little blond guy way out of his depth will come wandering in to make up something or other to his girlfriend, and he’ll order lots of something strong and dry and he’ll turn out to be one of the best things to ever happen to you.” Patrick’s head was bowed, but not enough to hide his smile and the redness of his cheeks. Pete just watched him carve into the soft wood with his thumbnail for a while, until he lifted his head again.

“I like the days where nobody tries to fucking speak to me,” he shot back. Pete would have been genuinely upset by that had he not caught the mischievous glint in his friend’s eye. His mouth dropped open, mocking hurt, when Patrick snickered. “Hey, I totally am the best company one could have at a bar! I can empathize”

“Yeah and you also distract from the job at hand!”

“Not my fucking fault you’re so easily distracted!” Pete shrugged. That earned him a huff and his friend crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so damned distracting, then.” Pete couldn’t help but wiggle his eyebrows at that. “Christ, I didn’t mean like that!”

“You would totally do me if you weren’t in a relationship.” He shot back. “I guess we’ll never find out, so I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Oh come on, I’m really good and everything!” Patrick grimaced “I’ll take your word for it.”

His face suddenly dropped the cheeky expression he’d been wearing since Patrick’s little Freudian slip and the atmosphere immediately cooled down when Pete asked him something he’d been dying to for weeks.

“Do you really think you’ll never be out of that relationship?” Patrick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut, “I mean, what else can I do? I’m not qualified for anything, I’ve been applying for other stuff since god knows when, but I just… can’t get anything. Nobody needs me. If I don’t have this, at least, that’s me out on the streets.”

Pete didn’t give it a second thought when he reached over and took the hand that wasn’t at Patrick’s face in both of his. “You can always stay with me, you know. I mean, like, I’ll take the couch, or whatever, just until you have something.” Pete remained hopeful, Patrick had declined similar offers a million times before, but he always hoped. Still, the shake of his head hurt Pete just a little. “And then what? I’d be dependent on you. I don’t want that any more. At least… at least this way I can have my own space. Where the fuck would my studio go if I lived here? You don’t have space for a keyboard, let alone a drum kit!” Pete knew he’d opened his eyes when he felt one of his hands being squeezed gently, and his head snapped up. He hadn’t even been aware of it drooping. “I appreciate it, Pete, I really do, I am so grateful, but… I can’t. I just… I can’t.” For some reason, it was always Patrick dishing out the sympathetic smiles, as though he wasn’t the one who needed them more.

Pete jumped when Patrick smacked both his palms on the table and stood up with sudden vigour. He was wearing a genuine, large grin, his eyes were beaming with him. Pete marvelled at his ability to muddle through. “Right, let’s get these boxes unpacked, because they’re annoying me, and when something’s even annoying _me_ , it really is messy as hell. Where do we start?”

An hour later, Pete was trying to put the bed together without instructions – whoever had originally bought the thing evidently hadn’t ever thought anybody would want to keep it – whilst Patrick sat on the floor, cross-legged, his tongue poking out in concentration as he attempted to screw together a set of drawers. “Having trouble?” Pete called over from his spot below the window. As a form of reply, he got the finger. “That’s not very polite.”

“I can tell you’re making fun of me, don’t make fun of me, dude, I’m trying my best.” Patrick’s forehead was creased on a frown that made Pete chuckle. It really wasn’t as hard as Patrick was making out, and it was kinda like watching a Chimp trying to get into a coconut. Did chimps live near coconuts? They did in Pete’s mind. “You do know there are instructions to that, IKEA be blessed.”

“Fuck off.”

“Woah, tiger, I’m only trying to help.” Patrick glared at him from below his lopsided hat, which somehow… wasn’t as scary as he probably liked to think. “Alright, I take it back. Not so much tiger, more kitten.”

“Pete shut the fuck up or you can put this together yourself.”

“I’d probably be quicker, anyway.”

“Fine, no more cake for you!” Okay, _that_ was a threat. “No, Trick, please, I was just teasing.”

“I know. Don’t.” Pete pouted at him, but he didn’t look up.

“How’s the music going?” Patrick, of course, knew he was still curious about what exactly it was he was writing for, and if he was completely honest, Pete did think he deserved to know, simply because he was the one who landed Patrick the job in the first place.

“God, yes, okay, fine, fine!” Pete grinned when he realized he’d finally won, “if you tell anybody, you’re dead.” He pulled his fingers across his mouth as though he was zipping it closed and Patrick rolled his eyes. But his face lit up the second he started talking. “it’s a TV show. Kinda Sci-Fi, yanno. Sorta like low-budget Star Wars meets low-budget Doctor Who. The emphasis lies on low-budget. I’m getting, like, 5000$ for it, which isn’t a lot, if you consider how long it’s gonna take me, but it’s… something. It’s something.” He repeated, almost as though he still couldn’t quite believe it.

Pete was beaming. He deserved this, he really did. Together, him and Patrick had written probably a whole album’s worth of decent songs, Patrick certainly being the deciding factor in that. Not only did he write insanely awesome tunes, he made sense of the crap Pete’s brain would spew up in the small hours, as well. It was ironic how Pete seemed to need him on every level of his life at this point, when they hadn’t even known each other a year ago. It felt like more, though, really. they’d met last May, and it was now December. Pete was aware of Christmas drawing threateningly closer, after the cake he’d been served, he really was struggling to come up with a decent present for Patrick. Well, he did have one in mind, but somehow he didn’t think Patrick would appreciate it. No, he would, he would appreciate it, but he’d feel indebted to Pete. He didn’t want that.

“You really deserve this, Trick. You work so hard, and you’re so talented, like, fuck.” Patrick raised both of his eyebrows at the sudden intensity of Pete’s compliments, “no, really. you’re such a good guy and you were born to make music, you really do deserve to get somewhere with it.” He gave Pete a small smile, not explicitly saying ‘thanks’, but his eyes were filled with gratitude.

A pleasant silence fell over them. They both worked on their pieces of furniture to the sound of each other’s breathing, the stillness not clammy or awkward, but peaceful and reassuring. They were at the stage of friendship where silence is rarely awkward, you just enjoy being around each other, even if you aren’t doing anything. It was kinda new to Pete, he was very much an anxious talker, and he got anxious quickly.

“Y’know,” Patrick put one of the draws he was slotting together down and swivelled on the spot so he was facing Pete. He was wearing that expression Pete knew from when he was explaining why his lyrics had been stuck together they way they had been, like he was about to say something very important that he had to find just the right words for. “Pete, I’ve not known you all that long, but I really do think you’re my best friend.”

Pete felt his face drop, and alarm spread across Patrick’s features, “god, I know it’s kinda weird because I didn’t even know you existed a year ago, but, like, you mean a lot to me, and I feel we just click and I’ve never, ever been comfortable with silence before. I don’t expect anything to change or for me to have to be your best friend, I know I’m not, I just wanted t-“

“Patrick, shut up.” His jaw immediately snapped shut. He looked kinda hurt. “No, no, I mean… I’m just surprised. Not in a bad way, I, I mean… we really haven’t known each other all that long and to think you already… I just don’t…”

He caught himself, stopping his own ramblings when he saw his friend’s brow begin to furrow and his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. No, not his friend… “What I’m trying to say,” he began again, having drawn a deep breath, “is you’re my best friend, too.”

Somehow, he ended up with a little, warm ball of Patrick in his lap as he was slowly squeezed to death by two short arms.

There was no doubt about it, Patrick really did give the best hugs.

Pete only realized how cold the room was when he had Patrick’s body heat keeping him warm, but it was weirder than that. It was warming him from the inside out, having him all curled up in his lap like a little puppy. A very, very cuddly little puppy.

He was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. How their chests were pressed so close together, hearts beating against each other, Patrick’s legs wrapped around him, the fingers stroking his back, the steady breath on the back of his neck… expect it wasn’t on the back of his neck. It was by his ear, his cheek. It was on his face. Pete dared to crack his eyes open ever so slightly, only to see blue ones inches away. Or were they gold?

He didn’t have enough time to tell before they were shut as soft lips pressed against his mouth.

It took Pete’s brain a while to figure out what was going on, and when it finally did start functioning, it didn’t. All that was running through it was _ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod kissing kissing the cute guy is kissing me ohmygod_ like he was some teenage boy. Carefully, he placed a hand on his friend’s… or whatever the fuck this was… face, so his thumb was brushing his cheekbone and his fingers could curl into the soft, blond hair. When Patrick didn’t pull away, he pulled him closer, opening his mouth a little to get them both moving.  
To his surprise, it was Patrick who first brushed his tongue against Pete’s lips, and not vice versa. He didn’t hesitate for a second and they crashed into each other.

 

Maybe like waves.

Maybe like an accident.

Maybe that wasn’t for them to decide.

Pete squeezed his eyes shut and stilled, just trying to savour the feeling of Patrick so close, his hands digging into his back, his legs pulling him closer still, his tongue tracing the inside of his mouth, the tip of his nose pushed against his face, the flutter of long lashes against his cheeks.

He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He wanted it so badly, it was almost cruel.

And when Patrick eventually pulled away, dropping his arms to his sides and getting up in a hurry, Pete kept his eyes shut and his lips parted.

The last he heard was a muttered “I’m sorry,” and the _click_ of the front door falling into its lock.

-

Pete should probably have been angry. Patrick knew damn well about this stupid little crush he had going on, and he also knew Pete was trying his hardest to push it aside and not let it affect their friendship. Months he’d gone, denying any more than amicable feeling he had toward the man, to the point where he could actually say he was gonna be fine with them just being friends and he didn’t want more, and then Patrick had gone and kissed him.

Not only a peck on the lips or anything, oh no, a full-blown make-out session on Pete’s bedroom floor.

Yeah, he should probably be angry.

But the problem was, he was too elated to be angry. Pete’s life had been flipped back into high school mode, only without the teachers or the bullying or the exams, he spent most of his day planning on how to win Patrick over, how to get him to do the right thing. It had been hard suppressing those thoughts before, but now he’d experienced a level of reciprocation, it was even worse.

Of course, the rational side of his brain was telling him to shut the fuck up and chill with the teenage hormones, he was a 34-year-old facing a midlife-crisis/existential breakdown about the fact that he was nearing an age where he should have a family and a decent job, but he was still single and working in a bar, he shouldn’t be swooning over the pretty blond guy.

The fact that he hadn’t seen Patrick since the incident wasn’t much help, either. His rational brain was telling him they needed to talk it out and get over this as soon as possible, but as long as there was no reason for rationality, hormone-brain was left to run its unhindered course. Also he suspected not having his lanky friend around him all the time made him a little lonely, so why not hyper-fixate on an unattainable boy? Fucking hell, he was in some deep shit.

Eventually, he gave in, though. When he found himself writing words that sounded more like Taylor Swift than anything else, Pete decided he’d had enough.  
He made himself quickly search for Patrick’s number in his contacts and dialled it without hesitation, knowing that if he paused for a second, he’d chicken out.

Nobody answered.

He figured going round to Patrick’s house would be way too creepy, and he didn’t much fancy bumping into Jane, really. Pete had just settled down to write a letter when it hit him. Saturday night.

Patrick would be working.

He sprung up, exchanged his sweatpants for jeans, and pulled on his thick jacket before leaving the house. The wind that hit his face was ice cold, too cold for the time of year, really, but then again, it was past midnight, and the skies were clear. His breath drifted through the air in foggy clouds, almost as though the heat escaping him was mocking his freezing limbs.

Thankfully, there was no queue. Maybe this meant it wouldn’t be too busy, either, maybe there was a concert somewhere, or an exclusive party, the sort of thing Pete would have known about ten years ago. He was too old for this.

He slipped inside without needing to flash his ID and headed straight for the bar, bulky coat slung over his arm as he pushed past bodies. It wasn’t any emptier than on a usual Saturday, probably nobody had wanted to come as late as he had for fear of having to wait in the cold. Jokes on them.

Forehead quickly looked away when Pete spotted him, making it rather obvious that he’d been watching. But Pete wasn’t here for Brendon.

Patrick was leaning against the counter on the wall, reading something on his phone when Pete perched on a stool in front of him. His presence went unnoticed until a girl asked him what he wanted, causing Patrick to casually look up.

The second he saw who had arrived, his eyes widened and he shut off his phone, putting it in his back pocket and gently pushing the girl aside. “Pete.” He had to strain to hear Patrick over the noise, he wasn’t shouting like he had done whenever they’d met here before. Pete offered him a pleasant smile. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone.” His gaze fell to his shoes, shoulders tugged up to his ears. “I figured turning up at your house would be a little _too_ weird, so…” Patrick glanced over at his two co-workers, Brendon was eyeing Pete suspiciously. He felt a little insulted, he certainly wasn’t the one in the wrong here.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged out of the club by an arm clenched around his elbow, guiding him back the way he’d literally just walked in.

Once the penetrant noise left his ears and the heavy air had been replaced by a cold breeze, Patrick turned to face him. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but his glasses were balanced on his nose and he was practically droning in a big, maroon coat, zipped up to his chin.

“So, you, like I guess you wanna, like, talk, yeah?” Pete nodded silently. They started walking nowhere, just to keep stiffness off their joints and the cold from their bodies. Pete had a feeling he was supposed to initiate this conversation, but in all honesty, what was he supposed to say? _Patrick, it’s fine, I don’t have any feelings for you. Patrick, I love you and want you to be mine._ Whoa no. that really wasn’t… no, the l- word wasn’t actually appropriate yet, Pete decided. Things weren’t quite that hopeless just now.

“It’s okay, you know”, he settled with, “I know you… your situation, and like, I wouldn’t wanna… wanna get you into even more trouble, so I like… I get it. Is what I’m tryna say. And we can just forget about it or whatever, man.” Patrick answered with a heavy sigh.

“No, Pete, that’s, that’s… that’s not it, see, like, the thing is – and, that’s kinda what’s making this, this, uh, this whole thing, like, so hard or whatever – is that I… I like, don’t really, I don’t really wanna forget about it, I guess? I mean, I regret it, I really do, I can’t do this, I just, I can’t, but like… I don’t wanna… I don’t want this to be all.” Pete was used to Patricks way of speaking: Half-sentences, cut off when his brain got ahead of him, stitched together woth loose words and repetitions, backtracking and skipping forward. Sometimes it was a challenge to keep up, but he had it figured out.

Now, though, Pete was struggling with semantics more than anything. His brain pretty much felt like a block of ice at this point and maybe it was because he didn’t know what to make of the situation himself, but what his friend was saying didn’t make sense.

“Patrick, I don’t… understand.” He sighed, heavily, his glasses were steaming up from his warm breath. “no, I don’t either… I really don’t.”

They walked a bit more, not even noticing where their legs were taking them as they were stuck in their own heads, until Pete came to a halt in front of his block of flats. “Okay, Trick, here’s what we’re gonna do.” He had to tread carefully. “I’m going home, you should, too. We won’t meet up, or speak to each other, or text, or anything until each of us has sorted out what the hell we’re doing here.” Patrick nodded, sheepishly. “What is it?”

He shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably, kicking at the frozen ground. “I just… what if, what if we, like… never figure it out?”

His eyes looked green underneath the street light and it took Pete more energy than he had to keep his hand in his pockets and stay in his own space. “Then… we never figure it out.” It was with a heavy heart they both said their goodbyes, and leaving Patrick standing outside in the cold on his own, tiny and fragile, was quite possibly one of the most difficult things Pete had ever done in his entire life.


	4. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy this is LONG Christ almighty!  
> Shoutout to the five people still reading this haha thanks, I really appreciate you :) And thanks for commenting and leaving kudos, too, it's always nice when gmail lets me know people are paying this attention. (pls don't stop doing that thanks)

The holiday season had always been a bit of a struggle to get through for Pete. He wasn’t particularly close to any of his family – and by not close he meant not on speaking terms with any of them – so for the last few years, the week between Christmas and New Year had blurred into one long marathon session with Gabe, usually accompanied by healthy food (Pizza) and even healthier drink (beer). This Christmas, however, was different.

Pete was more than grateful that Gabe had remembered how lonely Christmas was when you have no family, so he went all-out on his present, getting him a really fancy barrel of expensive root beer and a 1st grade Spanish exercise book for the joke of it. Gabe, of course, had nothing for him, but he’d not expected anything else. They didn’t really do presents.

It seemed like any other Christmas to Pete as long as it was just him and Gabe, eating Christmas pudding and drinking root beer in front of the TV. Maybe it was a little bit better, even, because he knew to value the company. He’d really started regretting moving out, that spurt of adulthood he’d felt when sealing the deal on the apartment had vanished and now he was like and uncertain college kid left out for the lions.

But then he met Gabe’s new flatmate. Or, as he liked to think, Pete’s replacement.   
And jealousy wasn’t the worst of it.

Just his kind of luck that his replacement, the kid now living in his room with his flatmate under his roof was none other than Forehead. Gabe tried to introduce them with a big, friendly grin, but they stared at each other, Pete as unobtrusively and modestly as he could, but he felt daggers tear into him, fired at him from Brendon’s eyes.

“Do- do you know each other?” Pete went to make some excuse about reversing into his car once or something, but Brendon got there first. “I’m a friend of Patrick’s, you know, the tiny, blond guy this creep won’t leave alone? Yeah.” Gabe groaned quietly and his body deflated along with his plans for the evening. Pete knew when he wasn’t welcome. “I, uh, I guess I’ll get going then, thanks again, Gabe, I really had a good time.”

He thought he was getting away with it until Brendon’s voice filled his ears again, “keep your hands off him, yeah? I dunno what you’ve done, or how much you know, but he can’t deal with you on top of everything else!” He should just ignore it and go, it wasn’t like Brendon knew a damned thing about his relationship with Patrick, he didn’t even know himself at this point. But if there was one thing Pete hated above all else, it was false accusations. His confidence had taken too much of a bashing at the hand of them, he couldn’t take one more.

He did quite possibly the dumbest thing he could. He turned around, so he was inches away from Forehead, and grabbed his collar. He tried not to waver when he realized who the taller man in this situation was. “Listen here, I know about Patrick, I fucking _know_ the shit he’s going through, and all I wanna do is help, I just wanna be there for him, I’d never, _ever_ put pressure on him, yeah? I don’t care about reciprocation, I don’t, all I want is for him to be alright. All I want is to be there for my friend.” Something inside him shifted, as though he was clicking into place.

“Then why the fuck was he in the bathroom crying over you last week, hm? If he means so much to you, why do you fuck him up?” Pete’s grip on Brendon relaxed a little as his mind ticked over, still too caught up with his own realization to be able to cope with what he’d just been told. His second of confusion was enough to get him socked in the jaw. Pete staggered backwards, hitting the doorframe with his back as his hand flew to his split lip. He stared at the blood on his fingers as though it was personally offensive to him.

“Pete, Pete, I think you should go” He looked up at Gabe, who was speaking to him gently whilst holding onto Brendon from behind, arms wrapped firmly around his struggling body. “Go.” Pete nodded and slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

The pain didn’t set in immediately. And when it did, it did nothing to block out the screaming of his mind.

He knew what he wanted. He just hoped Patrick did, too.

\--

His text message was left on read. Anybody else might take it as rejection, might take it as indifference, but Pete knew it meant he’d made his point clear, all he needed to was to wait until Patrick was ready, too.

He wasn’t sure why exactly he bought a camera, and he certainly didn’t know why he went for such an expensive one, it wasn’t like he knew what he was doing, or could tell any difference. It was a distraction, something to do outside of sleep and work.

He got it in mid-February, just in time to see the snow melting and the first blades of grass push their way through the no longer frozen ground. He took about 200 pictures of snowbells within a week of getting the thing, deleting 194 of them, letting five rot in a folder on his laptop and getting one printed on canvas. Patrick had said he needed to decorate his walls, after all.

He found photography was kind of like writing: a reflection of the moment that you’ll never quite understand later, but you’ll know how it felt in that moment. It was profound. In his mind, anyway.

The only difficulty was shooting people. More often than not, there was an emotion or interaction he wanted to capture, but he couldn’t just take a picture of two complete strangers, he had to creep behind trees and bushes and buildings like a stalker.

The problem with being a lonely, arty, slightly crazy freak was, he didn’t feel much shame in that. So of course it was when Pete was crouching behind a hedge, just a few feet away from a couple, he was crying, she was… trying to comfort him, that his phone went off.

Pete froze when both of them looked up. He would later find photographs on his memory card where he’d accidentally taken pictures of his great escape that involved him doing his best at parkouring across the park, over the skating bit, scraping open his knee and ripping open his best pair of jeans in the process, jumping a few fences and running as fast as his legs would take him – all without damaging the camera, he liked to point out – until he was standing in the elevator up to his apartment.

He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, drinking in the much too cold air the vents were providing until his throat was dry.

So dry, in fact, the only noise he could make when the doors opened to reveal the corridor of his level, was a strangled gasp.

Patrick’s head snapped up, blue eyes meeting his. He looked tired. Pete took in his small figure, sitting on the floor in front of his flat, hugging his knees to his chest and peering at him from under the brim of his favourite fedora.

“What.” It came out flat and harsh, Pete blamed it on the running. Patrick was chewing the inside of his lip, he could tell from the way his mouth was twisted to the side. “Don’t do that, your mouth will end up sore and bloody again, Trick.” He seemed to relax once he’d assessed that Pete wasn’t as mad as he’d first made out. “Why are you here?” Pete slid down the wall until he was sitting next to Patrick, because no, asking him inside and sitting on the couch to sort this out was not the obvious thing to do. “Didn’t… didn’t you get my text?” Oh, yeah, _that_ text. Pete looked at his camera. “Uh. Kinda.”

“You didn’t read it, did you?” he shook his head, not daring to look Patrick in the face. He didn’t know what stupid shit he’d do if he spent too much time in those eyes. He kept turning the zoom on his lens, it wasn’t good for it, but better the camera than him. Better it than him.

He felt a hand gently settle just below his elbow, gripping ever so slightly. Pete gulped and looked at Patrick’s fingers, they were kinda short for a guitarist. All the more reason his playing was amazing. He let his head fall onto the wall behind him, so his neck was arched outwards, so Patrick could see every bob of his adam’s apple. He felt oddly exposed. Maybe he should have read the text, then he’d know what to prepare himself for, then he wouldn’t be sitting here, waiting for Schroedinger to prevail. As long as Patrick didn’t tell him, he hadn’t made his mind up. As long as Patrick didn’t say it, he wasn’t going to leave him. That was his biggest fear. And the more he thought about Patrick’s defensive posture, his defeated look, the more that fear threatened to become reality. He couldn’t lose him.

It was pretty much the last thing he’d expected when he felt soft, damp lips press against his throat. Pete’s breath hitched. He still didn’t dare to open his eyes.

Patrick’s voice was low and rough when he spoke, so close to Pete’s ear it sent shockwaves through his body. “I want you, Pete. I just, really, I want you so bad.” He couldn’t help the strangled whimper that escaped him as Patrick nuzzled against the coarse stubble on his jaw. Pete made himself open his eyes just a crack, and was greeted by pools of blue and gold, filled with anxiousness, nerves and… and lust. Pete could practically feel his pupils dilate and had to summon everything last bit of willpower he had to not just take what he wanted then and there.

His legs were shaking violently when Pete managed to push himself off the ground and, with a lot of help from the wall, into a standing position. Patrick, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, smoothing down his denim button-up and looking at Pete with an intense, but controlled gaze. He fumbled for the lock pathetically, not being able to slide the key in, let alone turn it round. He felt agitation rising in his chest. His hand was shaking, it was shaking so badly. He felt light-headed. Everything was strange and off and weird and not like it was supposed to be and Pete didn’t like it, he didn’t like-

Then there was a hand on his, gently prising the key out of his cramping fingers before steadily sliding it into the lock and turning it. Patrick didn’t look at Pete as they stepped into the flat, didn’t turn around as he took a few strides into the living room.

But the second the door closed, Pete felt himself being shoved against it forcefully, felt a mouth press against his with desperation, all tongues and lips and teeth, sucking, licking, biting pulling. Pete couldn’t stop making those little noises, he tried so hard, but he couldn’t stop them.

Patrick took a wrist in each hand and guided them upward, over Pete’s head, until he could hold them against the wood with one hand, the other was… oh god. Pete moaned deeply as Patrick stroked him through the coarse material of his jeans, their bodies pushed together as closely as possible, sharing breaths, as though they were living off each other. Pete shuddered when he felt teeth nipping down his throat and towards the zip on his coat. Patrick caught it with his mouth and let go of Pete’s arms as he gradually sunk to the floor, opening the anorak as he went. Pete shrugged it off without hesitation, and pulled off the black sweater he was wearing whilst he was at it.

Light kisses fluttered against the bat-heart tattoo on his lower belly he’d got when he’d been young and dumb and hadn’t grasped the concept of ‘forever’, as quick fingers made even quicker work of his jeans, pushing them down until they were nothing but a pile by his feet.

Patrick’s mouth was warm against him through his tight boxers, his breath causing Pete to whine like a desperate teenage virgin. The desperate part was true. He had to do everything he could to not wrap his finger in the blond mess of hair in front of him, he didn’t want to take control. Well, he kinda really did, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t push Patrick.

Patrick looked up at Pete hungrily from behind his fringe as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the boxers he’d been mouthing at moments before. Pete was too busy trying not to blow his load there and then to pay any attention to Patrick’s terrible one-sided Porn dialogue, but it was something about his amazing dick. He wished he’d get on making himself familiar with his amazing dick, but Patrick was now biting at Pete’s thighs, licking at marks he was leaving on the tan skin, his fingers skirting all over his lower body. Pete whined in frustration as they skimmed through the coarse hair between his legs, just shy of where he wanted them. “Trick, please,” his breath came out in heavy pants, “please, just fucking… fuck, _fuck,_ fuck, ah, yes…..” it was only the tip of his cock breaching those perfect lips, but it was so good.

“Oh god, Patrick… Patrick, shit..” he winced as low hums sent vibrations through every inch of him, inching further and further towards his belly. Pete was balling his hands into fists so they didn’t reach for that fucking golden hair. Then, all of a sudden, he felt a nose push into his stomach just above his dick, and when he looked down, he felt like he was about to faint.  
Patrick was looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, hair all over the place, but his lips… Pete whined again at the sight of Patrick’s mouth pulled open around him, saliva dripping down his chin, probably mixed with pre-come. He was breathing steadily through his nose and if Pete looked carefully, he could see where his throat was being stretched by his cock. It was all way too much. And when Patrick swallowed around him, Pete was certain he was gonna lose it. He hung on. Somehow.

He slowly backed up and Pete let out a heavy, stuttered breath just to draw it in again sharply when Patrick sunk back down. He didn’t go as far, adding his hand around the base this time, but increasing his speed, slowly building up a good rhythm accompanied by that constant, low humming that was slowly driving Pete insane. When Patrick licked along the slit, Pete couldn’t stop his hand as it curled into his hair, but Patrick moaned to show his approval. He resisted the urge to push his friend… friend… sure… down further again, not knowing if he could, or wanted to, for that matter, so he just tugged lightly, torn between wanting to squeeze his eyes shut and resisting the urge to blink so he didn’t miss a second of Patrick staring at him as though butter wouldn’t melt, lips sealed tightly around him.

Then, when he sunk down again and Pete watched as the outline of his dick visibly made its way down his throat, he tugged Patrick’s head back sharply, just before he wouldn’t be able to hold it anymore. If he’d thought his legs were wobbly before, they were literal pudding now.

Patrick smirked up at him, still on his knees, his hands ghosting around Pete’s thighs. Pete tugged at his arms until Patrick was standing in front of him and bent forward to connect their lips. Patrick tasted a little salty, his mouth soaked in that little bit of Pete he hadn’t been able to hang on to. There was no biting this time, there were no tongues, but Pete found the fact that he was stark naked and Patrick still fully clothed more than offensive, so he testingly tugged at the collar of the leather jacket. “Lose this?” Patrick wiggled his eyebrows at him, but let it slide to the ground before taking a few steps back, holding out his arms. Pete caught on and followed him towards the couch, where Patrick gave him a quick, chaste kiss before pushing him down and stepping back. Pete’s brain was trying to make sense of the scene in front of him, until it clicked.

_Oh yeah._

_Stripper._

Actually, it probably wasn’t that exciting, all Patrick did was twirl around as he swiftly lost his shirt and swirled his hips when he was taking off his trousers, but Pete’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip when the briefs came down and he had a hard time tearing his eyes off Patrick’s crotch. “Hey, hey!” his eyes snapped up when fingers were aggressively clicked at him “my face is up here. I want you to look at it.” Pete forced himself to stare him in the eyes as Patrick sauntered towards him, hips swaying. He gracefully climbed onto his lap, sitting down so Pete’s dick was brushing against his naked body from behind. Patrick knew how to move so it was enough to get him frustrated. There was friction, but not enough. He was humming again, into his mouth this time as they kissed, Pete doing his best to deepen it and speed things up, but Patrick wasn’t playing along.

“Mmmh, condoms? Lube?” Pete groaned slightly, he hadn’t even thought… thank god one of them still had his wits about him. “Don’t give me that, you’re not fucking me if you’re not rubbered up and you’re certainly not fucking me if I don’t get a good fingering out of it first.” Pete kinda really just wanted to get on with it, but he knew how fucking much it could hurt if it wasn’t done properly. “Bedside drawer,” was all he said and Patrick hopped off his lap, giving him a peck on the cheek and disappeared into the bedroom.

Pete took the opportunity to tip his head back so he was staring at the ceiling and he did his best to catch his breath, steady it, get himself under control so he wouldn’t climax the second he was inside Patrick. Inside Patrick. It was happening, it was real. He shuddered in anticipation.

Before he knew it, Pete wasn’t alone anymore, before he knew it, Patrick was in his lap again, before he knew it, Patrick was riding three of his fingers, face contorted into an expression of pure bliss as he chewed his bottom lip. The humming had stopped. Pete made sure to crook his fingers once in a while, just to send him a little closer to the edge, just to bring them both back onto level ground, Patrick was trying to take charge, he could tell, and whilst Pete didn’t object to that, he liked the power play that came with whispering filthy stuff in Patrick’s ear.

“Okay, okay, fuck, Pete, stop, stop,” he panted, chest heaving, dangerously close to losing control. With shaking hands, Patrick handed Pete the condom and he tore open the wrapper, rolling it on carefully. Patrick stroked his cock a bit to slick it up, lube pooling at the base, he was using so much.

Then, next thing he knew, his dick was surrounded by a tight, damp heat, just the head at first, then more and more. He tore his eyes open to watch himself gradually disappear into Patrick, the man in his lap whimpering every time he inched down, until all of Pete was filling him.

They stilled for a moment, Pete’s hands clasping Patrick’s hips, his fingers digging into the soft, pale flesh. Patrick’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face anything but relaxed as he breathed heavily, trying to steady himself. He was beautiful, the sunlight catching in his hair and making it shine golden, the freckles across his pale body, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Take your time, baby,” Pete was amazed at how calm he sounded. Slowly, Patrick lifted himself up, and the sensation was… phenomenal. He started recreating the rhythm he’d found when blowing Pete, his thighs working hard to support his weight, to keep him moving. Pete couldn’t help but dig his nails into that soft flesh. He knew Patrick was gonna have bruises on his thighs like Pete’s fingerprints.

_I’ve gotta remember that line_ was Pete’s last thought before his brain turned to mush as Patrick started _calling out_ , he’d been the quieter one so far, but was more than making up for that when his voice started working.

Somewhere between the “fuck, Pete”s and the “shit, yes”s and the “so good”s, Pete lost it. He held Patrick down as he came, hard and without warning, he buried his face in Patrick’s neck as his hips twitched desperately, his body no longer under his control.

When he sat back, he realized he hadn’t been alone, a pool of sticky mess on his stomach, right over his tattoo. Patrick flopped forward, his forehead resting on Pete’s shoulder as he attempted to catch his breath. Pete lost track of time, didn’t know how long they sat there, bodies pushed against each other, his fingers drawing patterns on Patrick’s back, Patrick’s breath tickling his neck. He was crying, gentle sobs shaking his body, his tears dripping onto Pete’s chest. Pete just held him. Good as the fucking was, this would be the moment he’d remember, the moment Patrick felt like _his_ for the first time, wrapped up in his arms.

Much as he hated it, Patrick had to lift himself off the part of Pete’s dick still inside him, and he slid off the condom before getting up and throwing it away. He came back with the roll of kitchen paper Pete kept by the sink, dampened, so he could wipe Pete down. “Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he muttered. Ah, back to the usual Patrick.

Pete chuckled and put a finger underneath his chin, tilting his head up until they were facing each other. He’d meant to go for a suave kiss, to finish off their weird little power-play on a high note for him, but he got lost in Patrick’s eyes along the way. The sun was low at this point, orange light seeping through Pete’s west-facing windows and tinging everything in its wake, making the world look like it was on fire. Patrick’s hair shone in the light that perfectly captured its colour and was bathing the right side of his face in gold. The same colour as his eyes. They looked… so old. His face looked so young, younger than it actually was, the milky, pale skin making him seem almost childlike at times, not good at hiding the red flush of his cheeks. But his eyes, they were tired. Pete knew why he had found this boy so intriguing, even when he was happy, laughing, smiling, having a good time, there was an unexplained sadness in those eyes, like they’d been open for too long. And right now, they were glassy and pink, like he just wanted to shut them. Pete forgot about his stupid game, his hand was gently cupping Patrick’s cheek, his thumb stroked over the soft skin on his face as they just stared at each other, Patrick bent over towards him, hand still on his tattoo. Slowly, carefully, as though he was made of porcelain that would shatter with any incautious movement, Pete leaned forward and gently touched their lips together.

There was no lust, no desperation this time. No ulterior motive, no thoughts about pleasure or longing or personal thrill. It was just them, completely, undoubtedly them. Patrick’s lashes were soft against his face, Pete could feel where he’d bitten his lip too hard and it had split. He carefully, gently planted kisses around it, so it wouldn’t re-open. Patrick shuffled forward until he was sitting in Pete’s lap again, their nakedness no longer arousing, but comforting. They were together, all of them, everywhere, and that was all that mattered. All that mattered.

 

 

Later that night, when Pete was lying on his back in bed, sheets wrapped around him, Patrick’s head resting on his chest and Patrick’s leg swung over his hips, he asked the question he hadn’t known whether to dread or not. Patrick sighed and shifted on top of him. “I can’t.” His heart only cracked a little bit. Actually, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. Patrick shifted, propping himself up on his arm so his face was hovering above Pete’s. “I want to be with you, fuck, I wanna spend every second with you but…” Pete shut him up by leaning forward and catching Patrick’s lips between his. “I know,” he muttered in between kisses, pulling Patrick back on top of himself.

\--

Pete felt happy before he even opened his eyes the next morning. It had been the first time in a while he’d slept through, undisturbed by insomnia, and when he regained consciousness, he immediately became aware of a pleasant weight on his arm. Patrick looked so peaceful asleep, that age and tiredness he’d spotted in his eyes the night before hidden away under purple lids that fluttered as he got lost in the land of dreams.

Pete gently stroked his blond hair, part of him wanting to wake Patrick up, part of him wanting to keep this moment forever. As though he’d heard his internal monologue, Patrick’s eyes fluttered open and he let out a big yawn. Pete could tell he was confused, looking around the room, trying to figure out where he was, until he saw Pete and smiled. “Morning,” he beamed. His voice was hoarse and layered with sleep, turning Pete’s insides to mush. “Morning sweetheart.” Patrick pulled a face at the pet name, but Pete would rather go to hell than miss out on pet names. “you got any plans today?” Patrick blinked up at him, shutting one eye against the sun. “What day is it?” he asked sleepily. Pete’s heart was having a hard time coping with how fucking cute he was. “Sunday.” He frowned first. Then, suddenly, his eyes flew open and he sat up. “Oh _shit_ I missed work yesterday!” Pete flopped back into the pillows in frustration when Patrick hurriedly pulled on some clothes – after a lot of begging, he’d agreed to sleep naked, but only for the one night – and grabbed his phone, unplugging it before holding it to his ear.

“Bren? Yeah, hi, no, no I’m fine… yes, no, I’m okay, really, I’m, I’m great actually. No, did he ask? No? oh. Oh I see. Oh god, thanks dude, you’re, uh, you’re literally like my, my saviour. I owe you. Yeah no, thanks. Really. yes I will. Thank you. Bye.”

Pete shot him a questioning look. “Brendon covered for me. Oh hey, did you know he’s living w-“

“With Gabe, yes, we… met…” he’d rather not talk about how that had gone. Patrick didn’t seem to pick up on the bad blood the two had, because he smiled broadly and said “oh, good!” before leaving the room. Pete really didn’t wanna get up, but he made himself none the less, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before following Patrick.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

They had to.

“So, uh…” he tested the waters carefully, “how are we gonna do this?” Patrick shrugged, eyes staring into the distance, “I dunno, I… Pete, I really wanna be with you.”

His brain jumped in before he could stop it, “then be with me! Please.” Patrick sighed and turned around, leaning on the counter. Pete wanted so desperately to walk up to him and kiss the back of his neck, wrap his arms around his waist, but he knew he couldn’t. “I… I can give you this, Pete. I can give you this, and no more, not for now.” There was a pause as Pete let the words roll around in his brain.

He wanted more. He so desperately wanted more than for them to be fuckbuddies. He knew he couldn’t just deal with that, he’d rather… he’d rather not have Patrick at all. He’d rather they went back to being friends, slightly awkward best friends, but best friends none the less, and then maybe this wave wouldn’t carry him to the shore only to shatter him against the rocks.

But then he remembered the golden sunlight on Patrick’s face and the way it danced in his eyes. He couldn’t give this up. He would be stupid to. Defeated, he agreed. Patrick just nodded, his face blank when he turned back around.

This was better than nothing, Pete told himself after Patrick had gone home. It was a step up from nothing.

-

It turned out photography had been somewhat of a hidden talent of Pete’s. he realized that when he got more into shooting people, and he got more into shooting people once people asked for him to shoot them. It had all started out when he’d just wanted to practice on somebody, capture them, everything about them. Patrick had taken a little persuading, but Gabe agreed immediately, confident as ever and grateful for the new facebook profile photo. He’d photographed Gabe’s face, up close, head-on, in profile, laughing, frowning, neutral, even crying, although Gabe’s crying was too stoic for what he had in mind.

Patrick didn’t want his face on them, so Pete made sure to get every other part of him on camera. Unlike with Gabe, he wouldn’t set Patrick up, wouldn’t give him instructions or a time-frame or a scenario. With Patrick, he took a photograph whenever he seemed worth photographing. Which was just about always in Pete’s mind. His favourite one remained the one where Patrick had been laughing so hard his stomach hurt, he wouldn’t stop wriggling around, which had annoyed Pete at the time, but in retrospect, the blurriness of his figure caught the moment near perfectly. And he could put it on the blog he’d created because there were not recognizable features depicted. Another one of his favourites was the one where Patrick had been reading through and editing some of his words, lying on the bed on his side, back facing Pete, upper body propped up on his left arm, hair catching the light filtering through the half-closed blinds. It was a dark photograph, outlines only visible because of the dust reflecting the sun, but it was serene. Pete thought it the most peaceful thing in the world.

He’d taken the photo, set his camera down and slid in behind Patrick, kissing along his arched neck until he was pushed away. He didn’t like it when his work was disturbed.

Before he knew it, people actually wanted to book him for things. Pete mainly photographed senior year girls wanting to have their last photos with a group of friends they thought they’d be looking at these with in twenty years, but who, in reality, they’d forget. Life was cruel like that. The more you lived, the fewer people you wanted around you, but you were all the more picky when it came to selecting those people. Pete had Gabe and Patrick. They were all he needed. Even if he didn’t see them all that often.

It was still odd not having Gabe around all the time, even after four months. He made a point of meeting him once every two weeks at least, at first it had been more, but he could tell Gabe was getting bored, they didn’t have much to talk about – they’d never been a talkative pair – and Pete continuously declined his invitations to go out. Pete hadn’t set foot in the Berlin since he’d hit it off with Patrick, he felt it would be too big an intrusion and he didn’t wanna risk showing Patrick up, especially not at work. Especially not when his boss was part of the problem at hand.

Patrick was really fucking busy, when he wasn’t at the bar, he was writing music. He’d finished the score for that TV show, apparently, but he’d found something else to do, a movie, this time, the producer – one of the guys that had been at the Aviary – had actually recommended Patrick. He’d been over the moon, but it meant he was totally overworked. Pete didn’t wanna push him to spend more time together when Patrick was so stressed out. He was glad when Patrick stopped by for a quick fuck between being at the studio and going home, or just after working at the bar. They rarely got to spend quality time together, and Patrick never visited Pete at work.

“I stand out like a sore thumb, you said so yourself,” he explained one afternoon in early April. He was pinned against the wall, legs hitched around Pete’s waist, sweating and panting as Pete fucked him steadily. “Yeah but you’d be _my_ sore thumb,” with the lack of time they had, they’d figured out a way to talk and have sex at the same time, it worked surprisingly well, really. Being balls-deep inside of somebody somehow made everything you said more honest.

“That’s exactly the problem here Pe- _ah,_ fuck…” his face screwed up as Pete seemed to hit a sweet spot. “You know we can’t… can’t, oh God, yeah, yeah, _fuck_ , uh, we can’t like…. Be seen.” Pete dropped his head to Patrick’s shoulder and started sucking at his neck, causing him to whimper. “I wanna show you off so badly…. Wanna show the world what a… what an amazing boyfriend I have.”

Patrick whined, loudly, and Pete felt damp heat hit his chest. He pulled out of Patrick, letting him sink to the floor, and started jacking off. Patrick lifted himself to his knees, so his face was just below Pete’s dick, and stared at him intensely, biting his lip and making small noises.

He was beautiful.

“Can I?” Pete panted, lining himself up, and when Patrick nodded, he hit his high, sparks shooting through his body as he released all over the face looking up at him expectantly. He fell forward, bracing himself against the wall, his breathing heavy. Patrick was still kneeling in front of him, looking up with big, blue eyes, his face covered in Pete’s come. Pete reached down and gently stroked his sticky cheek, he felt all warm and fuzzy inside and a smile played at the corner of his lips. “Could you clean me up, please?” Patrick asked quietly. Pete went to get a damp washcloth and a warm hoodie Patrick could slip into, he dressed way too coldly for the weather. Technically, it was spring. In reality, the weather hadn’t got that memo. Patrick was sitting on the couch in nothing but his jeans when Pete re-emerged from his bedroom and he sat down next to him, turning his body until they were face-to face. He gently began wiping across the now colourless streaks across his pale skin, turning it red where he rubbed at it. Patrick hummed contentedly. When he was done, Pete leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against his lips, before pulling the hoodie over his head.

“I can’t go home wearing this,” he quickly decided, and started pulling it off again. Pete reached out for his hands and pulled them away. Patrick frowned at him, irritated. “Don’t go home.”

He kept asking. Again and again, he wasn’t going to give up that quickly. He wanted Patrick. He knew Patrick wanted him. It could be so simple…

“I can’t, you know I can’t.” Pete sighed and nodded, like every time he was turned down. Patrick tugged the hoodie off, pulled on his own clothes and headed towards the door. “So, I’ll see you round, yeah?” he said as he stood in the hallway, Pete was leaning against his doorframe. “Please don’t be a stranger, Trick, I really miss you.” Patrick drew a deep breath and avoided Pete’s gaze, focussing on a spot above the door. “What is it?” he shrugged. “Patrick,” he attempted a warning approach, “what is it?” He was shifting from foot to foot, staring at the floor now. “I just, I…” he cut off again. Pete was getting continuously frustrated. “Oh come on, Patrick, fucking spit it out.” He had no patience for this stupid act, Patrick had a habit of acting like something he desperately wanted off his chest wasn’t that important, bottling it up rather than telling Pete outright and it annoyed the fuck out of him.

“Just, I, uh you said… you said, like, and, this isn’t bad or whatever, actually it’s really… I really, really.. like, yeah, but you…” he rolled his eyes and huffed demonstratively and Patrick kinda shrunk together “I mean, I, uh… you called me… you said I was your boyfriend.”

Oh shit. Did he? Pete’s expression must have given him away, because Patrick took a step towards him until he was in his personal space, “no, no, it’s fine, I’m not like… upset or, like, uh, weirded out just… yeah no, I really wanna.” He raised his eyebrows the way he always did when Patrick started babbling, “I mean…” he tried to compose himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before speaking again, “I mean I wanna be your boyfriend. Like, I’d really, really like that.” Pete beamed, leaning forward and stealing a brief kiss, but when he made to pull away, Patrick put a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him properly. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise.” Pete blew him a kiss as the elevator doors slid shut and Patrick caught it. Fucking sickly sweet, cheesy lovebirds they were.

Pete ignored the nagging thought telling him boyfriends weren’t supposed to be sneaking around other people.

 

\--

 

Nothing changed. It was two weeks before Pete next heard from Patrick, and even then, it was only a text. Pete ignored it, not even reading past Patrick’s name and shoving it back into his pocket. “Girlfriend struggles?” Pete glanced over at Andy, who was pulling a beer, and shrugged “something like that.”

“Sucks man. How long you been together?” Pete paused. Were they together? Really? “I- I’m not sure…” Andy hummed as though he understood. “You pissed at her?” Pete scoffed at that. Wasn’t it obvious? “You need to sort it out now before it festers.” He ignored it. “No, really, like… maybe she doesn’t know how you feel.”

“Oh, he knows.” Pete snapped back sharply. “Well then you need to make your point clear.”

“What point? I don’t have a point.” Andy put the beer on the counter, took the cash and started sorting it into the till. “You want him?” Of course. Of course Pete wanted Patrick. He wanted him so badly and he couldn’t have him, this little taste he got once in a while was driving him crazy. “Then you’ve gotta be clear. You tell him, he comes to you, or you leave.” Pete froze.

“I don’t wanna leave him.”

“Dude, I can tell how fucked up you are. Honestly, always thought you were a heartless dick, but you’ve been really exhausted lately. Like, all clumsy and sloppy, not like you.”

“Thanks.” He replied sarcastically. “Like, no offence or anything, but yeah.” Pete sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. How had he got into this mess? Oh yeah. Strong, dry whiskey. “You need to leave before you burn up.” He was right. He was right and Pete hated it. He hated it so much. Andy clapped him on the back before turning back to the next customer with his best bartender smile.

 

Pete’s brain was sort of on autopilot for the rest of the evening, meaning he actually did a decent job for the first time in weeks, not even getting any orders mixed up, like he had been recently. Just his luck then when his evening was made even more unbearably terrible than he’d thought possible.

When he looked up and was met by Jane’s smile, his body stopped working. He could just tell... _Oh god, she knows._

The worst thing though, was when he looked behind her and saw Patrick. Except he barely recognized him. He was practically drowning in his way too large, checked suit. It was really ugly. The hat he was wearing had a much larger brim than the ones Pete usually saw on him and it was pulled down low over his face, hiding it. His figure was hunched over, his hands jammed into his pockets. He looked small and weak. Pete made himself tear his eyes away and smile at Jane, who, frankly, looked incredible, dressed in a short, flowing dress, elaborate jewellery hanging around her neck and from her ears.

“Hi there, it’s my boyfriend’s birthday, so give me the best you have.” _Oh shit, is it?_ He kept up the act as he made Patrick an Alternate – the best in his opinion – and made her the most expensive shit he could whip up. Just to be petty. She slapped a 50$ bill onto the bar, not leaving a tip as Pete handed her her change. He hadn’t expected anything else. She gripped Patrick’s arm with long fingers and tugged him closer, until he was leaning against the polished wood. Pete turned his back and concentrated on aligning the bottles on the wall.

He ignored her deliberately obnoxious comments made in a deliberately sexual tone, he ignored the kissing he could see from the corner of his eye, he ignored them even being there. He did his best, anyway. He hadn’t realized he’d been balling his fists until he felt Andy’s soft hands gently prise them open. There were crescent marks in the palm of his hand, pale and deep. “Come on, you go get yourself sorted out, I’ve got everything under control.” He said quietly, so nobody could hear. Pete went to protest, if he left, she’d won. If he caved, she’d won. But Andy glared at him, “that wasn’t a request,” he all but snapped and Pete hung his head and headed for the staff bathroom like a kicked puppy.

He braced his arms on the sink, having splashed his face with water in the hope that the cold would keep him grounded. Pete looked at himself in the mirror. He hated her. He hated her hands all over Patrick. Not because Patrick was his, that wasn’t it. Well. It was maybe a little bit ‘it’, seeing as he very much considered them in a proper relationship – semantics aside – and seeing somebody else touch and kiss your boyfriend wasn’t the best feeling.

The worst thing was that Patrick hated it. Everything about him screamed _stop_ , he hated it so much. All Pete wanted to do was tear him away and carry him off to Neverland, where nobody would disturb them. But here they were. In this fucking mess, all because he needed money. Surely no money was worth this? He didn’t understand Patrick’s logic, he’d offered to support him until he found another job so many times, but he’d always declined, explaining he didn’t want to be financially dependent, but this way he was dependent on her. It made no sense to Pete.

He dried his face, straightened his shirt and put on his best mask before going back behind the bar.

They were still sitting there. It made Pete’s stomach churn. He deliberately kept his distance, not being able to face the humiliation and mockery. There was plenty to be done, anyway. He’d wipe down the tables, yeah, that was a good distraction.

Except one of the tables was right next to them and he could see her hand ghosting up and down Patrick’s thigh, making him tense. He resisted the urge to drag her outside by the hair and beat her up. Not even he would sink that low. Anyway, moral high ground and all that.

When he was done with the tables, he got to work on washing glasses. He didn’t need to, they were all clean, but what else should he do? By the time he’d done that, re-stocked the peanuts, and served a bunch of people, they were getting up to leave. Jane turned and walked out, pulling Patrick along by his hand, but she didn’t say goodbye or anything.

Pete just offered Patrick an apologetic smile when he turned around to look over his shoulder before being dragged outside.


	5. I never make plans that far ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday I'm in a bit of a mess because I lost the file with this story (and loads of other files too but h e y) meaning I now have to write it all again yay oh god I hope I can still remember it.
> 
> anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it, and please give kudos and feel free to comment if you like it :)

One thing was clear: Pete somehow had to make it up to him. Not that he had much to compete with, that “date” had been to antagonize him, he was sure, although he still wasn’t certain anybody actually knew about them – save Andy, who’d figured it out pretty quickly. But Pete had missed Patrick’s birthday and then contributed greatly to his suffering that evening, so he had to come up with something _good_ , and boy, did he have a perfect plan.

He was waiting outside the recording studio, half an hour before he knew Patrick would be finished, just in case. Just so he didn’t miss him. He’d wanted to bring flowers, really cheesy red roses, but decided against it when he’d realized Patrick wouldn’t be able to do shit with them, so he’d brought chocolates instead.

He half expected Patrick to look the same he had when he’d seen him at the bar, so Pete was all the more surprised when that was not the case. The second Patrick spotted him, he beamed, skipping across the street without checking for cars because sometimes his emotions got ahead of him like that. One day it would kill him, Pete was sure of that. But he couldn’t help but marvel how cute the way Patrick was hurrying towards him was, with a huge grin plastered across his face, and not only that, but his eyes were glowing with life, too, more so than they had done for weeks.

Pete realized he was smiling when he went to greet him, but he was abruptly cut off by warm curved lips against his. It took him by surprise, Patrick was adamant about not even holding hands in public, or looking at each other for too long, or… doing anything really, so the way he rested his arms on Pete’s shoulders and openly kissed him totally was not the reaction Pete had anticipated. When Patrick pulled away and lowered himself back down from his tip-toes, Pete was staring at him in confusion.

“Why are you so cheerful? And, uh… off-guard?” Patrick shrugged, “I haven’t seen you in ages, am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” Pete glanced around nervously, an automated reaction, if nothing else. “Why are you here?”

Ah. Yes.

He pulled the huge box of chocolates – a shitty present, but the main part was yet to come – out of the messenger bag he was carting around and offered them to Patrick. “Happy belated birthday, I’m sorry about being a total dick and, like, forgetting it, or rather, not even knowing, wow.” Patrick waved it off, “’s fine, I tend to not make a big deal of it, we’re all growing old, anyway.” But he took the chocolates none the less. “Thanks, Pete, really, you didn’t have to!” the odd thing was, he sounded genuinely grateful about this crappy excuse of a gift, he was grinning from ear to ear as he inspected the content.

“Oh, that’s just a little teaser, did you really think that’s all you’re getting?” Patrick looked up at him, wide-eyed and curious, “what is it?” Pete mimed pulling a zipper across his lips and experimentally held a hand out for Patrick to take. He wasn’t sure if his little antics before had been a slip-up, so he didn’t want to push anything, but Patrick laced their fingers together and held onto him tightly as Pete walked them through the park towards the nearest station.

“where are we going?” Patrick asked. “Spoilers!” Pete wiggled his eyebrows, provoking an irritated tut from his boyfriend, his _boyfriend_ he was holding hands with _in public_ , Pete was buzzing with joy.

Patrick was babbling away at full speed, his free hand flying all over the place in an attempt to bring his words to life. Pete had lost track a long time ago, he tried so hard to keep up with all that Patrick said when he was holding one of his monologues, but much as he wished he was, Pete was no expert on recording gear or marine biology.

When he stopped, having arrived where he’d been leading them, Patrick nearly fell over when he was so abruptly stopped in his tracks. They were at the beach. Just far enough off Lake Shore Drive not to be disturbed by traffic. Or tourists. Pete had prepared everything beforehand and prayed nobody would have changed it. They hadn’t. “Dinner?” Patrick’s eyes widened at the lavish picnic Pete had invested all his time and effort and most of his money in. “No WAY Pete, oh my god!” He enthusiastically flopped onto the blanket, legs crossed, and began examining the sandwiches. Pete was chuckling as he sat down next to him, just close enough for their knees to be touching. “Happy birthday, Trick, even if it’s late.” He wrapped an arm around the back of Patrick’s neck so he could pull his head closer and pressed a kiss to him temple.

Patrick, of course, was already tucking into a cheese sandwich. He looked so vital, all happy and glowing and it made Pete wonder what had happened, and that made him sad. Why did he have to wonder about what was going on when Patrick was happy? Oh yeah, because he was in an abusive relationship working a dead-end job to a manipulative boss and had little hope of ever getting out of it. Any time he spent not worrying about that, any time he spent just _living_ and not watching his back was a relief.

Pete let his gaze drift over his body, pointedly ignoring the dark bruises on his neck he hadn’t left there – he couldn’t leave marks on Patrick the way he wanted to – and instead focussed on his flushed cheeks. It would be a little creepy, he thought, if he started stroking it whilst Patrick was eating, so he sat on his hands to stop them from constantly groping him. At least whilst he ate.

“Don’t leave me hanging here, Pete, I can’t eat all of this alone!” Pete was torn out of his little trance as a piece of watermelon was shoved in his lap. “Eat!” Patrick commanded, like he was his father. “Uh, if you say so, dad…”

“What the fuck, Pete?!” He could have smacked himself. “No, not like that, I just meant-“ but Pete broke off his scrambling for an apology when he saw the cheeky grin Patrick was giving him. He was… so different today. “Oh fuck you!” Pete shot back, also grinning at this point, and he threw a cheese stick at him. “You’re the one that called me daddy!”  
“No I didn’t, I called you dad!”

“Same difference”

“Yeah but only because you were mothering me.”

“Shouldn’t it be ‘mom’ then?”

“Seriously, go fuck yourself.” Patrick fake-frowned, “awh I was hoping you’d do that tonight.” Pete’s ears peaked and he must have looked like a happy, tailless puppy when he blurted “are you coming home with me?” at Patrick. He just caught his bottom lip in his teeth and nodded. “Yay!” Pete dumped the half-eaten melon onto a plastic plate and flung himself at Patrick, engulfing him in a tight hug. “I, umh… I can stay…. For a while…. If you want.”

Pete didn’t dare pull back in case this was a dream, in case this was some stupid fabrication of his own mind designed to tear him apart. “What?” He reluctantly let Patrick push him away until they were face-to-face. “I said I can, like, stay for a while. If… if you would like that…”

He’d imagined this scenario a few times. He’d imagine how elated he’d feel, how overjoyed, how he’d scoop his boyfriend up in his arms and kiss him and carry him home and cuddle with him all night and the night after that and the night after that.

He hadn’t imagined the punch he swore he felt against his jaw. But Patrick’s hands were nervously fidgeting in his lap and Pete’s hands were by his sides. “wh-why? How?” He was evidently incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence, shout out to his brain for that one, thanks @ god for leaving him like this.

“I, uh…” Patrick reached out and took Pete’s hands in his, “I quit.” Pete wanted so badly to cheer and punch the air and sing but he was just… dumbstruck. “What?”

“I quit. At the club. I quit my job.”

“But… but… money?” He wanted to punch himself for not just _enjoying the moment_ , but he’d got so used to having to be so cautious around Patrick all the time, being half in the dark, that he felt… uncertain. “I got offered a job. Like, a better one. For a proper movie. I should… I can’t tell you here, but…” Finally, the wall came crashing down with loud thunder and the dust settled over Pete’s mind. He started laughing. Really, genuine, loud laughs that tore through his entire body until his stomach hurt and tears were streaming down his face. Patrick was chuckling next to him, suspicious. Pete just grabbed his arms and tore him into his lap so he could completely wrap himself around his tiny frame, squeezing him until he begged Pete to let him breathe. “Oh my God, Tricky, this is amazing, _amazing_ , you’re rid of them, Patrick! You’re rid of them forever!” He was scratching the back of his neck, “yeah, guess I am, eh? Hehe…”

Pete’s brain suddenly klicked on and yeah, he figured it was dark enough, the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, the sky was tinted a dark purple. Pete crawled towards Patrick until he was in front of him on his hands and knees and leaned in until they were kissing. His hand fumbled on the ground behind Patrick as Patrick’s wound their way into Pete’s black hair, until he found the switch on the battery pack and flicked it on, cracking his left eye open just enough to be able to tell it had worked. When he pulled away and Patrick opened his eyes, he could tell he was confused. It took him a moment to figure out. “Oh my god, fairy lights? Are you… are you…” He was gaping at the tiny twinkling lamps above his head, suspended between a tree and a bush, and Pete nervously chewed his lip. “It’s a bit teenage girl, sorry.”

“No, no, not at all, I love... it, I love it!” Pete tugged his camera out of his messenger bag and snapped a photo of Patrick before he could notice. He was still cross-legged on the tartan blanket, food scattered around him, the dark background filled with dots of orange light. He was looking sideway, up a little bit, so his neck was stretched, his mouth was twisted into a little, open-mouthed smile, the light reflecting in his eyes and getting caught in his fringe poking out from underneath a dark grey fedora.

Fuck.

This tiny man and his happiness were paramount to Pete and he’d do anything to contribute to the latter.

“Come here.” Patrick waved him over as he cleared the mess they’d made back into the large carrier bag Pete had brought it in, only leaving out the chocolate. Pete shuffled closer and copied Patrick when he lay down on his back, intertwining their fingers as they looked up at the first stars of the night. Patrick was softly humming something that was caught and carried away by the wind blowing over them. Pete closed his eyes and let it take him with it.

He was faintly aware of the body next to him moving around, twisting and turning, until he felt warm breath hit the side of his face. Patrick was lying on his side, scanning Pete’s face, carefully, slowly and intensely, like he was trying to carve the image into his mind. “You should’ve brought music,” he commented, but Pete shook his head, “nah, I’d rather hear your singing.” He’d just meant he enjoyed the faint humming Patrick seemed to constantly omit, but obviously that hadn’t been conveyed, because the next thing he heard, was Patrick’s soft voice by his ear.  

_When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see_

_No, I won't be afraid_

_Oh, I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand_

_Stand by me_

Pete didn’t close his eyes, he rolled onto his side so he could look right back at Patrick. Their noses were almost touching.

_So darlin', darlin'_

_Stand by me, oh, stand by me_

_Oh, stand, stand by me_

_Stand by me_

Pete sighed contentedly, still not being able to believe his luck, to take in that it had _finally_ happened, they could finally be a normal couple, ridiculous and cheesy and annoying and stupidly in love. Except he couldn’t say that, not just yet.

_If the sky that we look upon_

_Should tumble and fall_

_Or the mountain should crumble to the sea_

_I won't cry, I won't cry_

_No, I won't shed a tear_

_Just as long as you stand_

_Stand by me_

Pete was nuzzling Patrick’s cheek absent-mindedly, quietly humming along with him as his rough stubble brushed against soft, milky skin.

_And darlin', darlin'_

_Stand by me, oh, stand by me_

_Oh, stand now, stand by me_

_Stand by me_

Pete didn’t like the last verse of the song. It was always too real, too harsh of a reminder of how fleeting everything was. He didn’t want this to be fleeting. He pressed their lips together so Patrick couldn’t sing the words he didn’t want to hear.

His tongue pushed Patrick’s lips without needing much persuasion and skirted around his mouth, not being able to lap up as much of him as he wanted to.

Somehow, they ended up a mess of limbs and tongues, Pete lying on top of Patrick, one leg between his, a hand in the messy blond hair, the other one stroking up and down his arm. Patrick’s hands were gripping Pete’s face with desperation, as though he’d fade as soon as he was let go.

It was pitch black now, the fairy lights clearly standing out against the night, the cicadas had stopped chirping and all they could hear was the lapping of water against the shore and occasionally a distant car, the lights of the city in their backs and still too far to be a distraction.

They both ended up lying on their backs, big, loud belly-laughs filling the air around them as they lay awake and talked about dumb stuff, everything from the most trivial bullshit to the meaning of life.

“I don’t know, I… I always figured, we probably, we probably will never know, y’know? And maybe there isn’t one, or anything. So why worry?”

“I think… I mean, don’t you, like, wanna know? I can’t, uh, really live my life if there’s no, like,  point, if you know what I’m saying?”

“Okay, sure, yeah, but if there is, like, this, uh, and I’m not saying there isn’t or there is, I don’t know these things, or anything, but if there is some plan or something then… then…. I mean, the only thing a higher plan would do would be to, like, limit us, right? So the most important thing is to just… not limit yourself. I guess.” Pete couldn’t help but snort at the irony. “What?”

“Nothing, I just… Trick, you’ve been limiting yourself for the past, what, ten years?” Patrick sighed and Pete was a little worried he’d overstepped a line, that Patrick would be mad. But he just sounded kinda defeated. “I know. When your face work isn’t working out… like, this is according to, like, Goffman, yeah? Y’know? The, like, sociologist? Chicago was pretty big for sociology, did you know? A lot of sociology is built around the, the, the Chicago school, it was, like, really important and shit, and it h-“  
“Patrick,” Pete hated interrupting him, but he felt this conversation was one they couldn’t leave open, “what did Goffman say?” He frowned for a second, like being interrupted in his trail of thought had really thrown him off, but then he caught on. “Oh, yeah. If your face work doesn’t work out, right? Then your Self-image doesn’t coordinate with your outer image.”

“Okay and what happens then?”

“Well, you, like, have to attempt shit like cooling out, admitting to your outer image, trying to adopt that, to, like, be able to coordinate stuff again? Just to have control over it or whatever.”

Pete could tell that wasn’t all from the way it hung between them. “And if that doesn’t work?”  
“Well… you kinda… are an outcast? Nobody wants you? And you dissociate. Bottom of the line, suicide. I guess.” Pete sat up abruptly so he could look at Patrick. Worry crept into his mind. He didn’t want him to be broken, he didn’t want him to hurt. “Patrick, are you saying y-“

“No, god, no, it’s… it’s not that hopeless yet, Pete. I’m just saying…. I’m still cooling out.” He found himself nodding. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine, whatever you need.”

“I need you.” He was a little taken aback by how direct that statement was, they locked gazes and there was no flirtatious teasing or sappy romance in Patrick’s eyes, he was deadly serious. “I need you to… to accept the stuff I tell you. And, like… try to still… still like me. Yeah?” _I love you._  “yeah,” Pete said instead and Patrick offered him a weak smile before his mouth was tugged open into a yawn.

“I’m tired now. Can we go to bed, Pete?”

 

Pete was thankful for how cold the weather still was when he lay in bed that night, body wrapped around Patrick’s, sheets engulfing them, keeping them warm. Patrick was breathing shallowly and steadily in his arms, back pressed against his chest as he held onto Pete’s left hand in his sleep.

He couldn’t follow Patrick there. His mind was too full, trying to wrap itself around what had happened in the last few hours. He should be so happy, he finally had him, he’d won. But somehow, he couldn’t be. There was no way this would be sorted so easily.

\--

Pete was surprised when he woke up the next morning. Well, noon. He was surprised because he hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep in the first place. He felt comfortably oblivious, like he always did a minute or so after waking up, before reality smacked him in the face with whatever chemical concoction his brain had prepared for him over night. This time, though, the thing that cleared his obliviousness was his confusion at the heap of strange clothes by the bed. They weren’t strange. It didn’t, of course, take long to register that those clothes were Patrick’s and shortly after, he remembered what had happened the day before.

Ah, there it was. That joy he’d been hoping for. His face cracked into a grin as he just lay on his back, staring at the crack in the ceiling above him, a comforting warmth spread through his body as he realized Patrick was his. Finally. completely.

As if on cue, the bedroom door swung open to reveal a whistling Patrick carrying a steaming mug of something that smelled suspiciously of cocoa. He smiled at Pete warmly as he sidled towards the bed. “Morning, sweetheart.” Pete was thrilled to see he was wearing one of his huge sweaters over Patrick’s own black skinny jeans. Seeing your partner in your clothes makes everybody feel fuzzy and lovey-dovey. Pete made grabby hands for Patrick once the drink had been set down next to him and Patrick complied, bending over Pete to give him a peck on the lips. “You should get up. It’s, like, super-late. And that’s coming from _me_ for God’s sake. Get your ass out of bed.”

“ _Mmmmmmmh”_ Pete wordlessly protested as he tugged on Patrick’s arm. He lost his balance, toppling over the bed and just about being able to stop himself from collapsing onto Pete by catching his weight on his elbow. Pete pressed their lips together before he could protest and made it quite clear quite quickly that he had a _problem_ he wanted dealt with. He pulled Patrick on top of him until he was straddling Pete’s hips with the duvet still trapped between them. Patrick’s jeans were preventing him from feeling Pete’s dick through the sheets, but he seemed to get the message anyway as his hand began roaming Pete’s body, stroking over his arms, tracing the thorns around his neck and dragging his nails around Pete’s torso in gentle circles. They were both making small noises as they kissed and Pete started tugging his sweater off Patrick’s back, kind of apprehensive that he wouldn’t be wearing it anymore, but the need to see him was greater. Patrick scrambled to get the duvet out from underneath himself and carelessly let it fall to the floor next to them before dedicating his attention to Pete’s throat, gently nuzzling against it before grazing it with his teeth and licking over the faint, red lines he was leaving until he reached the neckline of Pete’s grey t-shirt.

“Off.” Patrick commanded as he pulled the fabric as far up as it would go without Pete sitting up so he could remove it. When it had gone, Pete squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of Patrick slowly, slowly sinking further down his body, his tongue lapping at his skin. Pete squirmed when he felt teeth around his nipple and cracked an eye open to shoot Patrick a warning look, but he just wiggled his brow and continued his journey south.

A rush of air left his body when Pete felt his cock spring free of his way too tight boxers and he felt rough fingertips skim around the base, but not touching him where he needed it. “Patrick… Patrick, please, please, just… uhhh, please..” he was already panting, which made him feel kind of pathetic, really, but Patrick was taking his time, softly humming as his fingers skidded across tan skin.

Suddenly, and without warning, Pete choked on nothing when he felt lips close around him. His hand shot to Patrick’s hair before he could stop himself, but there was no protest, so he allowed his fingers to twist into the blond mess beneath them. Patrick knew what he wanted. More importantly, Patrick knew what he needed. He let his tongue glide up and down the length of Pete’s shaft a few times before swirling it around the tip, and then he stilled, letting Pete firmly grip his hair and take control.

He was always careful when they did this, fearful of hurting Patrick as he steadily pushed his head further down, only letting him pull back when he gagged. Pete wasn’t quite sure when he’d shuffled up the bed so he could lean against the wall and watch what was happening, but he had a fantastic view of Patrick’s lips locked around him as saliva dribbled from his mouth and tears pooled in his eyes whilst Pete steadily fucked his mouth. Those big, blue eyes were staring at him like there was nothing else in the world, clearly focussed on Pete and only Pete, who whined quietly every time he hit the back of Patrick’s throat, unconsciously picking up speed until he was all but smashing into him. Pete gripped Patrick’s jaw when he came, hitting his high with a low groan. Patrick dutifully swallowed it all before climbing back up to face Pete.

He couldn’t deny he still found tasting himself on other people kinda gross, that stuff you read about enjoying the taste of your partner’s fucking genitals is bullshit, they always taste gross, and tasting your own load on somebody else is _very_ gross. But Pete kissed him anyway because, fuck, he loved the kid, he couldn’t say it, couldn’t even quite wrap his own mind around what that meant yet, but he somehow knew he did.

Pete snaked a hand down between Patrick’s legs, intent of flipping him onto his back, getting those damned jeans off and eating the hell out of his ass until he was shaking beneath him, but all he got was a chuckle and a slap to the wrist. “What, you don’t want me to reciprocate?” Patrick shook his head. “I jacked off in the shower, I’m good for now.” Pete pouted at him, but that just made him laugh even more. “Come on, you asswipe, I want breakfast. Well, lunch.”

Pete rolled his eyes as Patrick climbed off the bed and sidled back into the living room/kitchen/dining room, dragging the sweater back over his head and he went. Pete followed him after he’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that was way too big for him.

They ended up going out for lunch. Partly because Pete couldn’t be bothered cooking and partly because he felt they had a lot of dates to catch up on. This was their first one. They’d been together for two months, maybe more, Pete didn’t know where to set their marker, and it didn’t really matter.

So they were sitting at Olive Garden at 3 p. m. both reading the menu despite knowing what they wanted, just so they had an excuse to sit in silence and hold hands. Pete hadn’t been this happy in a long time, just out for a meal with somebody important, holding hands in public like there wasn’t anything to worry about. Well, there wasn’t. not anymore. Patrick wasn’t wearing Pete’s sweater, but had exchanged it for a dark blue shirt with a white print on it that Pete thought were probably birds, and was wearing his trusty leather jacket over it. Frankly, Pete felt a little light-headed at how insanely _hot_ he looked and still couldn’t really believe his luck.

The waitress eventually showed up and took their orders, smiling sweetly and doing giving them her best service-voice. When she had left them alone again, Pete took Patrick’s hands in his and brushed over his knuckles with his thumbs whilst they just stared at each other, a smile twisting the corners of Patrick’s mouth. “I can’t believe we’re just… _in public_ ” Pete was struggling to put whatever weird shit he felt into words. “I know, yeah, crazy, right? Almost like a normal, functioning couple”, Patrick sounded nervous when he finished off with a giggle and looked down at the table. Pete tightened his grip. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He just shrugged. “No, come on, tell me, please.”

“nothing, really, I’m… it’s nothing, it’s dumb. No, no, please, I really just… like… don’t wanna talk about it, Pete, I’m fine,” he twisted his lips into a smile that looked almost genuine “really!” Pete sighed, knowing full well it wasn’t _nothing_ but also being familiar with the feeling of not wanting to talk about it, at least not at that moment. “Okay.”

“Thanks.”

They fell back into their typical going-nowhere-but-everywhere conversation pretty quickly, with Patrick adamantly insisting Return of the Jedi was the best Star Wars movie. He was wrong. Obviously. “Everybody knows it’s Empire, you dumbass!”

“Yeah but they’re _wrong_ , Pete! Sure, it’s good, but people were just so impressed because of the sudden up in production quality. Story-wise, Return is, like, so much better?”

This was _not_ an argument Pete was prepared to lose, “it’s such a fuckin cheesy good-guy wins ending! Totally predictable!”

Patrick pouted, “hey, dude, no, I love when the good guys win! And, besides, like, the galaxy not going to… going to shit, yeah? Because it, like, totally would have, it’s not cheesy? Like, did you… did you, uh, watch it at all? See, the thing is, here’s the thing, you end up kinda routing for one of the bad guys, yeah? And it just shows how, like, people totally aren’t black and white, like, at all, or anything, we all just have… different motivations and backstories. So, like, making Vader not-bad was really, really awesome! How do people miss that?”

“Mh, sure, that was cool, but come on, the fuckin battle at the end of Empire? And Han being Mr. Sass all the way to the end? Gotta love!”

“Dude the ‘I love you’ – ‘I know’ is _so old_ now, like… come on! Gotta love Return!”

Somehow this conversation was still going on by the time they were standing in Pete’s bathroom brushing their teeth that evening.

They’d gone to walk off their lunch – Pete’s request, no Patrick’s – and whilst the topic had occasionally drifted towards the point of art and the ducks they were feeding and how Patrick was never dressed for the weather, the theme of the day seemed to be ranking Star Wars movies.

So Patrick was standing in front of Pete’s bathroom mirror, foaming at the mouth – literally and figuratively – as Pete himself sat on the closed toilet seat, rolling his eyes. He’d zones out once Patrick started talking about how much cooler the green light sabre was and not really bothered to pitch back in, his boyfriend was so caught up in his monologue he barely noticed the silence he was filling on his own anyway.

It was only when he bent over to spit out his mouthful of toothpaste and stuck his pyjama-clad ass into Pete’s face that Pete decided to stop his rambling. When Patrick straightened again, Pete was already standing behind him, ready to wrap his arms around his torso the second he was upright. He nuzzled his face into Patrick’s neck and breathed in his scent. He was gonna wake up to it tomorrow. And the day after. His fingers were tracing circles on Patrick’s belly below his top, he’d put on some weight recently, probably down to the stress of work, and the curve of his stomach and roundness of his cheeks just made him look all the more healthy and beautiful to Pete. “Bed?” Patrick nodded, yawning. “Yeah, yeah, I’m tired.”

They crawled beneath the duvet together, Pete shuffled as close as he could get and wrapped his arms around Patrick, who rearranged himself until he could breathe. “Night night, sweetheart.” Pete said quietly and pressed his lips to Patrick’s forehead.

“G’night Pete,” Patrick tried to articulate through his yawn.

They fell asleep shortly after.


	6. Here's looking at you, kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Also sorry it's kinda short. Like I said, I have to re-write it as I'm going along and I'm a bit pressed for time but o h well. This is pretty much just building up stuff, so sorry for the lack of progression here.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, I had to invent a few names here and there, don't hold that against me, I'm bad at most things.

“Relax, come on. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. You look amazing.” Dark hands drifted across a pale body, fingertips gently skirting over milky skin, like a feather on the water. It was so simple, yet so intimate.

Perfect. It was perfect.

The shutter snapped, the flash lit up the room. Pete checked the display to his left. Two girls looked back at him, their eyes alive with expression. The dark girl – Kathy – had thick, parted lips that caught the light that seemed to reflect off Romana’s pale skin as though she was the moon. What else would she be? Pete had asked them to dress accordingly, Romana in a loose, airy, light-blue dress, Kathy in tight, black jeans and a mustard blouse, her curly hair bushed up around her head and making her seem all the more powerful.

The screen was a simple dark grey, this shoot was all about the girls. They were two amateurs, not the best they could have got, but that was what the client was after.

The client being a small, local indie newspaper. This issue was about the LGBT community and Pete had been asked to take some photographs for it. He was being paid well and all, he felt like a real artist, as though he could keep up with Patrick.

It wasn’t that he felt inferior due to his job – his job gave him all he required and he was good at it, he couldn’t ask for more. But lately, he’s got the feeling he didn’t really have anything he could talk about at dinner. Especially since Patrick wasn’t there anymore and the dinners he didn’t spend alone were spent with Gabe and Forehead who both had something other than boring bar work going for them – Forehead sang in a band and Gabe was a motherfucking journalist (God alone knows how he landed that job) – so Pete had been feeling a bit lame.

Brendon had stopped giving him grief once him and Patrick had actually got together properly, even if there was still obvious distrust towards him, but as long he could spend time with Gabe again, Pete was willing to put up with that.

No, being recognized for his photography was certainly the best thing that could happen to Pete at this time, especially whilst he needed something to keep his mind off how incredibly empty home felt.

“Alright, thanks, girls.” He called out once he’d decided he had the shots he needed. They were fine, really, they’d done what he’d asked them to, if a little hesitantly. At least they weren’t seniors for once, he was kinda tired of seniors, but they brought him the most money at this point.

Pete still couldn’t quite believe he was getting paid to shoot people.

He was halfway across the street in front of his block of flats when his phone rang. His heart immediately fluttered and he felt his face light up when he read the caller ID.

“Hey babe, how you doing?”

 _“Mmmmh, tired, you?”_ The sound of Patrick’s voice was still the most beautiful thing in the world to Pete.

“I’m good, yeah, just finished a photoshoot, that one I told you about?”

 _“Oh, oh yeah, I thought that was tomorrow, sorry, I’m a bit out of touch.”_ He giggled lightly.

“Hollywood already getting to your head?”

 _“Sure, Pete. I wish. Wow, I don’t even have a decent hotel, let me tell you, you’d think they could get, like, two stars for the composer of an Emmy-nominated TV show, but I guess not. Their breakfast isn’t even really breakfast, would you count cold coffee and toast as breakfast?”_ Pete resisted the urge to point out that was exactly what he’d lived off for a few years when he was in his 20s.

“Nervous for tomorrow?” Patrick giggled again.

 _“Kinda.”_ A pause. _“I wish you were here with me. Why couldn’t you come with me?”_ Pete sighed. They’d been over this.

_“I know, I know. Just… ugh, Pete, I wasn’t made for, like, red carpets.”_

“How d’you know? You’ve never been on one. You might love it.”

_“Dude, you know me, I shit my pants whenever I have to ask for the bill at the café. Do you seriously think I, Patrick Martin Stumph, could cope with, like, a million cameras?”_

“Isn’t your professional name Patrick Vaughn Stump?”

_“Ugh, whatever you smartass.”_

Pete was in his kitchen at this point, trying to fish out a pan with his free hand.

 _“I miss you.”_ Yeah. Yeah, Pete missed him, too. They’d only been living together for two months and he already felt way too dependent on Patrick, to the point where it scared him, so he tended to push it to the back of his mind.

“I miss you, too. I can’t wait for you to come home to me.”

_“me neither. You don’t make me wear stupid suits or write fucking speeches I probably won’t end up making in the end.”_

“Oh come on, you’ll win that shit. You know your score will knock the others out of the park.”

_“Mmh, we’ll see.”_

“Bet on it?”

_“Pete, come on, you know I always win.”_

“exactly, you have nothing to fear.”

_“ugh, okay, fine, whatever. What’s the prize?”_

Pete paused for dramatic effect, although he knew exactly what his prize would be.

_“Pete.”_

“Whoever wins tops next time.”

_“Okay and what the fuck do I get outta that? If I win, I lose my favourite position, if I lose, I get to stay in my favourite position.”_

“Wait, I thought you said you were verse?”

_“Yeah, maybe I lied about that. Or maybe I just really like getting fucked by you. Who knows. You certainly won’t ever. Come up with something better.”_

Damn, this really wasn’t going to plan.

_“Pete, you still there?”_

“Uh, yeah…”

_“So come on, what is it you’re after?”_

“Well, uh, let’s say what if… what if I really wanted you… to..”

_“What if you really wanted me to what? Come on just spit it out.”_

His voice was barely more than a whisper and it was dumb her felt so nervous about asking, he wasn’t 16 and Patrick was somebody he trusted.

“Top.”

Silence.

_“Wait. You want me to fuck you?”_

“Umh, basically.”

_“Well, I guess, sure. I mean, I’m… like, I don’t mind. okay, if I win this ugly-ass award, you get to open your ass up for me. If I don’t win, I want you to take me out. With a hit man or on a fancy date, either would be fine with me.”_

“Okay, sure, yeah sounds like a deal.”

_“Good. How was the shoot?”_

Pete went on to talk about Kathy and Romana and how happy he was that he was shooting for money. He went into elaborate detail when describing his day, from the costumes down to the settings he used until he heard Patrick yawn at the other end. He’d been talking for forty minutes. “Oh, God, sorry…”

_“no, no, please, carry on, I wasn’t… that wasn’t, like, uh, an, an indication of boredness or, whatever, I’m just kinda sleepy. But I’m fine, really, carry on, please.”_

“No, no it’s kinda late, we should be getting to bed.” Pete glanced at the clock. It was 9 p. m. in LA. Then again, he didn’t know what Patrick had been up to all day. “Good night, Patrick. Sleep well. In case we don’t speak tomorrow, best of luck, I’ll keep everything crossed for you, you’ll knock ‘em out of the park.”

 _“Night, Pete. Thanks for, y’know, getting me into this job in the first place. I’ll wave if I end up on TV.”_ Pete chuckled at that. Tiny Patrick would get lost in the crowd. _“Good night. I l… I miss you. See you soon.”_

They ended up saying good night about eleven more times until Patrick finally decided to let Pete have the final word and hung up.

He pulled on his sweatpants and his hoodie that was probably really Patrick’s before settling down in front of an episode of Game Of Thrones with a beer and a bag of chips. It was a pretty cozy evening, but although it was nice to have some peace and quiet for once, he couldn’t help but miss the soft humming that seemed to fill every moment of his life these days.

 

 

 

 

Pete’s alarm buzzed at 12 p. m., allowing enough time for him to get showered and dressed and clean the apartment before going out and buying snacks for their viewing tonight. Them being the usual duo of him and Gabe and the viewing being the ceremony. He was going to sit through the whole damn thing in the hope of catching a glimpse of Patrick and he was going to make his only other friend sit through it with him so he didn’t completely lose his mind at the sight of his boyfriend surrounded by the rich and famous. Not that he was jealous or anything.

Thankfully, Gabe had got rid of Forehead by the time Pete arrived. Brendon may have learnt to tolerate him, but avoidance was still the safer option. Anyway, it meant nobody had to make do with the beanbag Pete had left when he’d moved out.

“They all look exactly the same” Gabe moaned through a mouthful of chips as one car after the other rolled up to the red carpet and the 7th white girl in the space of two minutes climbed out. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch a load of rich people walk a fucking carpet.”

“They’re not all rich, Gabe, shut up”, Pete said with an eye-roll as he thought about the fact that Patrick couldn’t even afford a fucking flat by himself. “Just because your boyfriend is underpaid doesn’t mean everybody there is too dumb to realize how much they can demand!” Gabe seemed to think Patrick was some big Hollywood star, when, in reality, Pete had been in the right place at the right time and Patrick had just worked his fucking ass off until _somebody_ with a slightly more long-term vision saw his name in the credits. It wasn’t even like this show was big – well, it would be if they won anything – it just happened to have been seen by the right people. It was still working on a tight budget and wasn’t exactly on the CW or HBO so yes, Patrick probably was being underpaid, but it wasn’t like he could ask for more, either.

Maybe things would change after tonight.

Pete felt a little cheated when Patrick still hadn’t shown up on screen after three hours of narcissism and PR. Gabe had insisted some dude walking by in the background had been him, but Pete knew Patrick, and not every short blond guy was his boyfriend. Patrick would _never_ wear a suit _that_ tasteless. He just hoped he wouldn’t be wearing that horrendous checked one either.

At least they _had_ to show him during the ceremony. They did that thing where they filmed each of the nominees and soundtrack was pretty near the beginning, so they didn’t even have to stay until the end (Pete kinda wanted to in case they’d snatch Patrick up for an interview, but he’d have to look it up on youtube).

Pete wasn’t gonna lie, it was boring as hell to him, he was totally a highlights kind of guy. He distinctly remembered being kinda pissed at Patrick back in March or whenever it had been when he’d been forced to sit through the entire Grammy ceremony he really didn’t care about. God, Patrick had him wrapped around his little finger.   
The beginning was always boring as hell. To Pete, at least, who didn’t care about special effects or costumes, he figured it made him somewhat of a dick because he complained when they were bad none the less, but he couldn’t tell one costume designer from the other and who in hell knew which CGI company did what?

_The nominations for best soundtrack are_

Pete cut himself off in the middle of his sentence, he’d finally given up on the TV as entertainment and fallen into conversation with Gabe about the ins and outs of the fashion industry and how it manipulated especially actresses at events such as this, but he stopped talking the second whoever the dude at the podium was started reading out names.

_Lewis Haydock for Wilder_

A tall, very manly-looking man, with slick, dark hair and light stubble.

_Martin Trucker for Twice The Woman_

He looked kinda plain, basic white guy with brown hair, nothing in particular stood out to Pete when he looked at the man on screen.

_Marie Grace for Down North_

A black woman grinned at the camera broadly, her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, she was perfectly glowing with life.

_Patrick Stump for Seventeen Candles_

Pete’s heart did a little somersault and he excitedly slapped Gabe’s arm when his face appeared on screen. He was smiling shyly, but his blue eyes were gleaming and Pete took in every detail in the second he had. He was wearing a maroon suit that looked surprisingly good, and a black fedora was balanced on top of his head, a tuft of dirty blond hair peeping out and falling over his forehead. A simple, thin black tie was curled around his neck and hung perfectly down the front of the white shirt across his chest. Pete was amazed that he wasn’t sweating, it was a habit of Patrick’s when he got nervous, but he’d probably been powdered down beforehand and somebody would have seen to the fact that he looked good enough for national TV.

In Pete’s mind, he looked nothing shy of perfect.

He knew Patrick had decided to pass on the glasses in case he did have to make a speech, it was so he wouldn’t be able to pick out faces in the crowd or something. Another nervous habit of his.

He was so stuck on the image of Patrick still burning in his mind he was barely aware of his surroundings, he only picked up Gabe’s “Oh God, you’re fucking head over heels, aren’t you?” and the winner.

Wait.

The winner.

Pete tried to focus, repel the distracting thoughts so he could get his head around the fact that he was standing on stage, he was trembling a little, but managing to keep his voice steady, he was…

He was not Patrick.

“oh…” Pete slumped when he realized it had gone to whoever the unimpressionable second guy had been, his enthusiasm dwindling as it hit him that Patrick _hadn’t_ won. He hadn’t been considered the best, somebody else had beaten him. Pete hoped he wouldn’t take it to heart, he knew how much his work meant to Patrick. But then he was on the screen again, clapping to whatever had been said. His smile seemed genuine and when he looked at the camera, he winked. Pete felt himself flush red and giggled like a schoolgirl, causing Gabe to tut and roll his eyes.

Patrick was okay, he wasn’t mad. Or upset. And, more importantly, they won best show and best supporting actor, which all smelled suspiciously of a raise for Patrick.

It only hit Pete when he was nearly asleep back at home later that night that this meant he’d lost his bet. And he owed Patrick a date.

 

 

 

“Yes, of course.” Pete had a finger in his ear, struggling to hear the woman at the other end of the line due to the noise of the crowd. “What? No, I can’t do that.” He glanced at the clock, two minutes until the plane touched down. “No, no way, no. Look, I’m not going down with the price, this is a lot of effort for me, you want me to fly out to Alaska? I live in Chicago! Yes, I do. No, pretty sure it says so on my website. No, I will, but… yeah, no definitely not. Alright, sure.” Pete checked the announcements, just to make sure he was waiting at the right gate. “Look, I have no problem doing it, but it’s gonna cost you to fly me out there. No, I can’t afford it. Okay, sure, whatever. What? I’m sorry, what? It’s pretty loud here. Yes, of course, sure, anything. Okay, anything but not that. Otherwise yes.”

His face cracked into a wide smile when he saw the tiny figure pushing through the crowd to get to him. “Mmh, I’m sure there are people _in Alaska_ who can do that for you. Well, I wouldn’t say I have a _style_ per se… I just kinda…” Patrick rolled his eyes when he came to a stop in front of him, but his smile gave away his good mood. Pete indicated that he really wasn’t having a pleasant conversation. “Mmh, uhu, uhu, yeah, sure, okay, look, if you’re not interested for that price… I’m kinda… I need to be somewhere right now so if you can call me back? No? Okay, thank you for reaching out to me anyway. Yep, have a nice day. Bye!”

He quickly ended the call before she could change her mind and silenced his phone. “God, sorry, client. Or, not client, potential client.” Patrick just nodded knowingly. “Everything okay otherwise?” Pete shrugged, “okay as usual, really. nothing exciting. Except the shoot but I already told you about that in more detail than I needed to.” Patrick chuckled and looked at his shoes. “Work’s pretty much the same… I’ve not seen Andy in a while, I hope he hasn’t quit, I like him. Here, let me.” He reached down to take Patrick’s suitcase off him, seeing as he seemed to be struggling between his hand luggage, the coat over his arm and whatever it was Pete was now carrying. “Thanks.”

Pete loaded it into the boot of a Taxi once they’d got outside, neither of them had a car, they didn’t need it, living in a major city. More fuss than it was worth, besides, public transport was fine.

They piled into the back and Pete gave the driver their address, it wasn’t a long journey really, just enough for Patrick to be able to complain about how hot it was down in LA in July and how pretentious everybody was and how much he’d kept wishing Pete could have come with him. Pete knew not to give in to the nagging. Patrick was a total nag. It was okay most of the time, and the argument they’d had on his birthday was enough for him not to want to argue back. Although getting to tie Patrick up as means of an apology had been pretty amazing.

He over-tipped the driver, mainly because Pete had a habit of over-tipping, but also because Patrick was already scrambling for his wallet and there was no way he was going to pay for this. Pete dragged him out quickly and shouted a brief “thanks” once they’d collected the luggage.

It was odd, Pete hadn’t even known how on-edge he’d felt the last two weeks until the humming was surrounding him again and he felt his body lose a lot of the tension he’d evidently been holding. It followed him into the lift and down the corridor, into his flat, where it only stopped because Pete pulled his boyfriend into a tight hug.

They just stood in the middle of the “open-plan” living room/dining area/kitchen, arms wrapped around each other and breathing gently. Patrick’s nose was pressing into his neck and his hair tickled Pete’s face, but he just nuzzled further into him, drawing in his familiar and oh-so-comforting smell until he felt like he had made up for the time he’d gone without it.

“I missed you.” He said to Patrick’s back, and Patrick replied “I missed you, too.” Pete was grateful when he didn’t say anything about how he should have gone with him.

“You owe me a date, though.” Patrick pointed out once they’d pulled apart. Pete was dragging the suitcase through to the bedroom because he knew it would still be standing there next month if he didn’t. “That I do… you deserved that award though, Trick, you really did.” Pete was almost relieved when he casually waved it off. “Nah, Martin’s a good guy. Besides, all this awards stuff is pretty much one big fix. The show won some, that’s enough in my books. The soundtrack is part of _best show_ , right?”

“Right.”

 

 

He didn’t take Patrick out that night, mainly because they were both so exhausted they went to bed at 8. Pete had made the effort of sliding down between Patrick’s legs, seeing as they hadn’t been together for two weeks when they were used to each other’s pretty much constant company, but Patrick had fallen asleep before Pete even got to press his face between those pale thighs. He’d just laughed it off and curled up next to him.

He didn’t take Patrick out the day after, either, because he suddenly had a brainwave.

Patrick was sitting at the keyboard he set up on the dinner table when he needed it. Most of his stuff had wandered straight into storage when he’d finally got round to moving out, but Pete had mounted a hook for one of Patrick’s guitars on the bedroom wall and Patrick had insisted he couldn’t work without a keyboard. Pete wanted Patrick to sell the house – nobody lived in it – but he’d said something vague about it being his grandmother’s gift to him or something, and when challenged about why a) they couldn’t move in and b) his stuff was in a storage unit somewhere across town, Patrick had explained in as few words as possible that he did not feel comfortable being there and he did not feel comfortable with his stuff being there. Pete had to remind himself that that house probably held memories for him that were anything but fond.

Most of what he played on the old, beaten-up synth was unusable, just Patrick messing around and pressing buttons until they produced a sound he wanted, but Pete enjoyed listening to him none the less.

“Hey, umh, I’ve been thinking.” Patrick’s hands stopped moving and he looked up at Pete sitting opposite him, frowning. “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” He was still worrying. “But, y’know that call yesterday? When I picked you up?” He clarified upon seeing the confusion in Patrick’s features. “Oh, yeah. What about it?”

“Well, she was a soon-to-be grandmother asking for me to shoot maternity photos.” Patrick nodded “go on.”  
“In Alaska.”  
“Uh, what?” His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “Alaska? She wants you to go to Alaska to shoot her unborn grandchild? Wait, no, she asked somebody from Chicago to do a photoshoot for her. In Alaska.” Pete nodded. “Okay, umh, wow, that’s… don’t they have any photographers there?”

“Well, I did suggest that but she was pretty insistent and kinda scary. I told her it would be expensive because I have to fly there, so she declined.”

“Hm, that’s a shame, you could have charged her for a more expensive flight and taken a cheaper one.” Pete frowned at that suggestion. “What? We’re both living on a budget here.”

“Anyway, I figured… that date…”

“The one you owe me, yes.”

“How about we turn it into a holiday? Seeing as I couldn’t come to LA with you?”

Patrick smiled, a bit hesitantly, but a smile none the less. “You want to take me on holiday. To Alaska. Because of a photo shoot.” Pete nodded. “I’ll let her pay, like, half the flight, so half of my ticket, and we’ll finance the rest. It’ll be romantic, I’ll only have to shoot for one day, and we can get a cabin somewhere and make bonfires and go hiking and snuggle together and shit. Come on, you know you want to.”

Patrick sighed, acting as though he’d really needed convincing “okay, fine.” Pete beamed and bent over the table to plant a quick peck on his lips. “But _we‘re_ not financing anything. You’re the one who owes me this date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo you can probably guess what the next chapter will be wow way to tick off all the fanfic tropes. Don't worry, I'll avoid the overly dramatic scene that lands one of them in hospital.


	7. We mustn't underestimate American blundering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Pete still hated flying. He’d swallowed three Xanax (“Are you fucking crazy Pete?! You can’t just take them at random, Jesus Christ, how strong are these?!”) and still couldn’t stop digging his fingernails into his skin and nervously chewing his lip. Patrick was passed out next to him, head flopped down so his four, no, five chins were resting on his chest, snoring lightly. It was cute as fuck and Pete was doing his best to focus on that image rather than the fact that he was sitting in an unreliable piece of hollowed-out metal, being shot through the sky by a jet-propelled engine he didn’t trust, at heights and speeds he didn’t dare think about.

Pete hated flying.

The stewardess kept shooting him nervous looks, as though she didn’t trust his lunch to stay on its side of his stomach and Peter reckoned he must look as terrible as he felt.

He could get his notebook and write to take his mind off things. It was in his bag. His bag was over his head. He’d have to undo the seatbelt (yes, he wore it the entire flight, Patrick had been very amused by it) and get up. He’d have to stand in this thing that was shaking around him. Everybody would be staring at him. What if he fell over? He was a pretty short dude, what if he couldn’t reach? What if he had to ask the stewardess for help because he couldn’t reach his bag? That sounded emasculating. God, why was masculinity so fragile and why did he give a shit about it? What if he pulled it out and had forgotten to close it so it spilled out everywhere? He had his teddy bear in there. He was a grown man and had a teddy on a plane, if that didn’t make him the default butt of all jokes. “Hey kids, your dad once took a flight to Alaska and there was a middle-aged dude with a teddy bear. And he was only 5’ tall and had to ask for help getting it down!” That was genuinely more embarrassing than the fact that Patrick had stuffed four packs of his condoms in there, at least people would know Pete was getting some from that, that was an adult thing. Okay, so if the bear fell out, the condoms had to fall out, too, to compensate. Okay, okay, he needed to do this.

Task 1: Unbuckle belt. Just… slide it out of the clasp, it wouldn’t be hard. _Come on Pete, come on, you can… do it you can do it…_ he egged himself on silently. The buckle slid out with a decisive _click_ and Pete was certain he was going to die.

Task 2: Stand up. His legs were shaking more than the plane, but it was easier to blame it on turbulence rather than anxiety. Thankfully, Pete’s knees didn’t give out as he pushed himself off his seat. Patrick grunted and Pete glanced over his shoulder to look at him, saw the view out of the window and felt like throwing up again. Okay, he was standing.

Task 3: Open the right compartment. He had to stand on tip-toes, but he could reach. Right one first go.

Task 4: Retrieve bag and pray it’s not open. Pete held on to the back of his seat when he stretched to grip a corner of the bag. He managed to tug it so it was peeping over the edge enough for him to be able to lift it down without having to tip it too much. Of course it was closed. Why wouldn’t it be? Pete was painfully aware of the three people watching him as he rummaged through it until his fingers brushed the leather-bound notebook Patrick had got him for his birthday. He’d claimed it wasn’t much and had apologized and promised Pete the most lavish birthday present ever once he earned a better wage, but Pete loved it. It was black and smooth, it had his name engraved on the back of it, tiny gold letters at the bottom of the cover.

Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III

He was just a little disappointed when there hadn’t been a

From Patrick xxx

to be found anywhere. The pages were blank, probably because Patrick had picked up on the doodles Pete liked to draw when words escaped him. He was desperate to keep this one tidier than the last ones. An organized mess. He figured Patrick would be grateful, too, when he waded through the lines to figure out which ones sounded best together. They hadn’t jammed in a long time, but Patrick still frequently added music to Pete’s lyrics and sometimes he’d play the songs for him. It made their relationship feel very special to Pete.

He let out the breath he’d been holding when he finally closed the belt around his body again and squeezed his eyes shut as he gathered himself.

They snapped open when a hand gently brushed his cheek. “Are you okay?” Patrick sounded groggy but concerned. He had a sleep crease across his face. Pete nodded and leaned his head to the side so Patrick’s hand was trapped between it and his shoulder. Pete pressed his lips against his soft palm before letting Patrick pull his arm back again. A loud grumbling let him know Patrick was hungry.

“Ugh God, the struggle of having to get the… get the stewardess yourself when, when your partner’s social anxiety is, like, even worse than yours” he chuckled nervously before kneeling on his seat in an attempt to catch her eye. Pete smiled and turned his attention back to the blank page in front of him.

What did he want to write about?

He decided to zone out and let his hand to the writing for him, it sometimes spewed up something decent.

Pete was vaguely aware of Patrick waving his arm and talking to somebody, nodding when he was asked a question, not knowing what he’d just agreed to, or confirmed. Somebody came passed, Patrick was talking again, he was talking a lot, then he was humming and something within Pete settled. His surroundings shook. His pen scrawled across th page because of it. Pete didn’t care.

He only snapped out of it when he was poked in the arm. “You gonna eat that or what?” Pete frowned in confusion until Patrick indicated the sandwich that had appeared in front of him in the last 15 minutes or so. “Oh. Umh. No, not hungry.”

“Why the heck did you… why did you even order it then? If you weren’t, if you weren’t gonna eat it?”

“Did… when did I order it?” Patrick just rolled his eyes and grabbed it off his little fouldy-outy-table before Pete could protest. “You in the zone?” He nodded. Patrick peered over his shoulder, Pete didn’t like it much when he watched him writing, but he couldn’t deal with an argument on top of everything right now.

Pete awkwardly scribbled down nonsensical lines, trying not to let the prying eyes disturb him too much until Patrick had the audacity to reach over and take the little book. “Hey, no, don’t.” Patrick just waved him off and chewed the bite he’d just taken out of the sandwich as he scanned what Pete had written. He hadn’t even read it himself yet. He crossed his arms in front of his body and sunk down into his seat in an attempt to get sucked into it. “Patrick, please don’t read that.”  
“Why not? I read all the rest of your shit.”

Pete physically recoiled , but Patrick didn’t seem to notice. He shut up after that and let the pen be taken off him so Patrick could scribble around and re-arrange the words until they made sense in his mind, picking Pete apart syllable by syllable and piecing him back together to fit his needs.

Pete shoved his headphones on and turned his music up when Patrick started humming.

 

 

The first thing Pete did when they got to their little cabin was dump the luggage he’d been carrying and rush to the bathroom. He knelt down in front of the toilet and emptied his stomach, ridding himself of the nerves of the flight and hopefully some of the toxins he’d consumed beforehand.

With a sour taste in his mouth and a burning in his throat, he sat back and rested his forehead against the cool seat, hoping it had been cleaned properly. This wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d booked this holiday, but he should have known the first day would be taken up with recovering from the flight. It was okay, he could bounce back from this.

“You okay?” Patrick’s voice was muffled through the white wooden door. “Can I come in?”  
“Uh….” Pete looked at his hands as though they were strange to him, like they hadn’t been attached to him for 35 years. “Y-yeah, yeah.”

The door cracked open and Patrick peeked in. He’d changed out of his flying clothes and into sweatpants and one of Pete’s Metallica shirts. Patrick frowned when he spotted Pete on the floor. “What’s the matter? Why are you on the… on the floor? And what’s that smell… oh, oh!” His eyes widened when his brain finally put two and two together. “I’ll get you some water!” Pete shook his head and grabbed onto his arm before he could leave the room. “Please, just… I’ve got a load of anxiety right now and I don’t wanna think about… stuff.” Patrick’s face cracked into an amused smile, “Stuff. That’s very specific, dear.” Pete shrugged it off and used the wall to push himself up. Thankfully the flush worked.

“Curl up in bed and nap?” Was Patrick’s suggestion once Pete had sidled through to the living room. “Yeah!” he didn’t try to hide his relief at that suggestion, “yeah, that sounds awesome.” Patrick beamed at him and took his wrist to pull him through to the bedroom where he’d already made the bed. His suitcase looked like it had exploded all over the place, of course he hadn’t bothered keeping it tidy. Pete sighed and decided to ignore it. He tugged off his clothes until he was down to his boxers and slid underneath the summer covers, leaving the comforter at the foot of the bed. Moments after he’d shut his eyes, he felt the bed dip as Patrick climbed in next to him and Pete shuffled closer towards him until he could comfortably be the little spoon, lulled to sleep by steady humming.

 

 

 

When his eyes opened, it was darker. Not dark, but darker than it had been when he’d drifted off. Pete blinked repeatedly and wiped his hands across his face. His heart dropped a little when he turned round and found an empty bed where Patrick was supposed to be. According to his phone, it was 8 p. m. He’d slept for five hours. At least he didn’t feel sick anymore.

Pete decided clothes were redundant as he wandered around the little house in search of Patrick. He wasn’t exactly hard to find, a path of used crockery leading to his location, decorated with the odd wrapper or piece of half-empty paper. Pete found himself sighing as he gathered it up, they’d not even been here a day and the place was already a total mess. But that was Patrick for you, chaotic in everything he did.

He was sitting at the breakfast bar, laptop opened up in front of him, probably running some music program or other judging by his expression and the headphones sitting firmly over his head. He wasn’t wearing a hat and his hair was all ruffled from his nap, if he’d slept at all, that was. Pete wandered over to him and pressed a kiss to his temple, not provoking any form of reaction, but he knew Patrick – when he was writing, he wasn’t the most communicative. Pete washed the two mugs and the plate before searching the fridge for the next best edible thing. They should have gone shopping instead of sleeping. He’d do that tomorrow before or after the shoot. He’d placed it on their first proper day so it would be out of the way. Patrick could go and look at Anchorage or just follow him around, he didn’t really mind. Maybe he could go shopping on his own.

Pete had to settle for canned tuna and the bread they’d packed for exactly this kind of emergency. It was okay. He’d had worse. Going by the state of his plate, Patrick had had the same.

“Working?” He attempted conversation from his place opposite Patrick. “Mmh.” Pete couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but Patrick didn’t notice. He guessed he was here for work, too, he couldn’t really complain.

Pete ended up scrolling through twitter. It had got quite a bit more interesting since Patrick’s previously scarcely used account had become verified and he’d actually started using it. Evidently other people beside the two of them really cared about his stuff. He didn’t have a _huge_ following, he wasn’t exactly an A-list celebrity, but people knew him and people knew his work and people asked him about it. Why he’d chosen that specific key, why he’d written something in major rather than minor, what he associated with certain characters and where his inspiration came from (“life” had been the answer). He didn’t interact with anything Patrick tweeted, he didn’t know whether he’d want their relationship public. Pete didn’t know if he wanted that himself, really. People were mean for all the wrong reasons.

After about an hour, Patrick finally shut his laptop with a decisive _snap_ and hopped off the barstool. Pete felt arms snake around his waist and leaned back into the touch. Patrick was pressed up against his back and rubbing his face against the back of his neck. “We shouldn’t have napped, I’m not tired at all.” Pete just shrugged, “It’s only 9 p. m., we can still do something.”

“Sounds good. Anything specific in mind?” Patrick spun him around in his chair so Pete could rest his arms on his shoulders. “Hmm, I feel like a walk.” Patrick grinned, “don’t look like one” he leaned forward and kissed him. “Did you really just dad-joke me?” He just shrugged. “Walk yes or no?”

“Walk definitely, walk sounds great.”

“Okay, will you let me out so I can get dressed?”

“Nah, I like you like this.”

“Mmh, bet you do. But if I go outside like this, people might get jealous and you might have competition.” A faint smile made its way across Patrick’s face but didn’t reach his eyes as he stepped aside.

 

 

It was pretty nippy. Despite it being August, the air was at 60 Fahrenheit and felt more like 50 due to the cold wind. The north. Patrick was wearing a cardigan and a leather jacket over his dark blue t-shirt and had sat his trusty grey cap back onto his head. Pete was wearing two hoodies.

Their cabin was in the woods east of Anchorage, kinda in the middle of nowhere, but that was what they’d wanted, and they’d taken a hire car just in case they desperately needed it. And for the shopping. And for Pete’s session tomorrow.

They marched through the tall trees stretching into the purple sky above them. Patrick’s shoulders were pulled up to his ears as he plodded across the soft soil beneath their feet, Pete by his side.

He wasn’t speaking much.

Pete wasn’t sure why, maybe losing that award had bothered him more than he’d initially been led to believe, but he did what he did best and just talked until the silence shut up. Occasionally he’d glance over at his boyfriend, painfully aware of his silence, but he only interrupted to agree or attempt a little laugh at one of Pete’s lame jokes.

They stopped by the river and sat down on a rock near the water, watching the fish swim with the stream as Pete plunked rocks into the waves caused by the uneven riverbed. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Patrick, planting kisses over his face once in a while, but he didn’t react beyond sometimes smiling at the contact.

Something was eating away at Pete’s chest, like a diseased rat and he was having a hard time pushing it down. He felt uncomfortable.

 

 

It was that night in bed when he snapped.

Pete had rolled over after turning the light off and kissed Patrick, possibly hoping for more, but mainly as a means to say good night. Patrick had puckered his lips a little, but barely acknowledged Pete beyond that.

“Okay, look, I’ve been ignoring this for a while now, but please tell me what’s wrong.” That, finally, was deemed worthy of a proper reaction. Well, sort of. “What do you mean?” Patrick all but snapped at him. “You’ve been off, is everything okay?”  
He had the audacity to _tut_ at him. “Everything’s fine, Pete.”

Pete propped himself up on his elbow and tried to turn Patrick around so he’d be facing him. “Everything’s _not_ okay! You’re not… you, you’re acting all weird and… and downright bitchy, you have been since you got back from LA.”

“It doesn’t fucking _matter_ Pete, you wouldn’t understand!” His jaw dropped. “Excuse you. What wouldn’t I understand? The tough life of a celebrity? Did Hollywood get to your head a little? Are us mere mortals not good enough for you?!”  
“I never said that!”

“No? That’s what it damn well sounded like, and fucking _look at me_ when I’m talking to you!”

Pete hadn’t been prepared for the fire in Patrick’s eyes. It was like the yellow around his iris had expanded and swallowed half his soul with it. He flinched back.

“Nothing got to my head! I’m just really… really fucking stressed, okay? I don’t need to explain myself to you, Pete.”

“Yes you do!”

“Oh no, I really don’t! You’re not in my position! You’ve never been in my position! You’ll never been in this position! You don’t know what it’s _like_ to have so many people watching and judging your every move!”

“Might wanna fucking think twice about using that nice little verified twitter account of yours quite so often, then?”

“What, are you fucking jealous or something? Are you jealous people give a shit about my music? Is that it?”

Envision. Lock target. Strike. “Nobody gives a shit about your music, Patrick, you can’t even win one fucking award.”

Gotcha.

Patrick went stiff. His lower lip was quivering and he was desperately trying to keep it together. And Pete felt an odd sense of satisfaction. “Y’know what? Fuck you. I’m… I’m going home tomorrow.”

“What home? You live in _my_ flat, remember?.” There, there it was, that tear Pete hadn’t known he’d been waiting for.

Somehow it didn’t poison the rat, though.

Patrick’s voice was barely a whisper when he told Pete to go fuck himself and his arms weakly threw his stuff off the bed and towards the door. Pete got the hint.

Thankfully, the sofa wasn’t too uncomfortable.

The rat gnawing at his heart was.

 

 

 

“Sorry, sorry, give me a second.” Pete nervously twisted the dial on his camera to adjust the aperture. He couldn’t concentrate on the pregnant woman in front of him or the man behind her when there was nobody standing behind him.

Patrick hadn’t come into town with him. In fact, Pete was pretty sure Patrick really had flown back home. When he’d woken up that morning feeling sick and guilt-ridden for the words that he’d said the night before, words he didn’t even know he’d been thinking, and walked into the bedroom intent on apologizing in whichever way he could, he’d found it empty. Well, half empty. His suitcase had been neatly tucked underneath the bed, a wad of cash lying next to it. He’d flicked through it and quickly come to the conclusion it was approximately a month’s worth of rent – half the time Patrick had been living with him. The amount he’d be owed if they had that kind of arrangement. But they didn’t. Pete didn’t want the money.

Patrick hadn’t answered his phone.

Patrick hadn’t replied to his texts.

Patrick had disappeared.

Pete was taking photographs of a strange couple excited for one of the biggest and best changes in their lives.

Pete was pretty sure he’d just been dumped.

Pete was pretty sure he’d just lost his best friend as well as his boyfriend.

This wasn’t going to be his best work. A small part of him felt guilty, but he mostly didn’t care. They weren’t paying especially well or anything, either, and he’d warned them he was pretty much still an amateur. They’d have to take it his way, he wasn’t fucking Burger King.

The session took 3 hours. 3 hours of photographs, a quick look over them (oddly enough, they’d loved the crap his shaky hands had produced), a quick explanation of how to contact him for printouts of any kind and how his website worked when it came to accessing specific sessions, an exchange of half the money and Pete was back in the four-wheel-drive car heading out of town.

It was a miracle he didn’t crash it.

When he came to a stop outside the little, wooden cabin, Pete remained behind the wheel, not wanting to face the emptiness. There wasn’t much point in staying, really. it was a waste of money, but if he spent another lonely second in that house, he’d lose his mind. Or kill himself.

After 20 minutes of sitting in silence and contemplating the one facing him, he pulled himself together and swung his legs out of the car.

The short walk to the front door seemed long and weary. What would face him back in Chicago? Would Patrick still be in the flat or would he already have left? Would he go back to his old house, surrounded by all those horrible, horrible memories? Stroppy as he sometimes was, Patrick was a soft guy, a good guy, he’d never harm a fly and he was as fragile as one himself. He couldn’t make him go back there. He couldn’t let him break. Pete loved him too much.

Pete pushed the door open slowly and hesitantly, not wanting to face reality. It was with a heavy heart he trudged through to the bedroom to collect his stuff so he could leave. Fuck, this was supposed to be their stupid romantic getaway. This was supposed to be their thing, one day of work, but then time spent with nothing but each other.

Now all that awaited him behind that door was a cold, empty bed, a lonely suitcase and a tonne of regrets.

Pete certainly hadn’t been expecting Patrick perching on the mattress, looking up at him with big, glassy eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why an update on a Monday? So soon after the last one?" Well I won't be able to update next week so I'm trying to get two chapters up this week you're welcome.
> 
> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE FOUR CHAPTERS I'M STRUGGLING TO COME UP WITH TITLES oh dear


	8. Last night we said a great many things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so badly written, I'm pressed for time and couldn't really edit.

There was a list of things Pete probably shouldn’t do in instances like this. He remembered his mom telling him to never give in to bullies after he’d come home beaten up. She’d presumed they’d been after his lunch money, when in reality, it had been a friend. Maybe not a friend, somebody he’d trusted too much. The first person he’d ever told he liked boys, mainly because he’d been the first boy he’d ever liked.

The bruises faded and the cut on his chin healed up.

The other pain did not go away so easily.

The moral of the story: The ones we love the most hurt us the most. When in doubt, proceed with caution. Don’t let your heart get ahead of your head, don’t show them how you feel, stay cool, stay rational, stay as distant as possible until all doubt has been lifted.

The problem being, Pete had always been a heart over head guy and he’d always done things way too fast and the wrong way round. Sometimes it worked, usually it didn’t.

So, of course, the first thing he did when he saw the man he loved and, until a second ago, had thought he’d lost sitting on their bed in a little cabin somewhere in the woods of Alaska, looking small and vulnerable, was drop the bags slung over his shoulder and tackle him onto the mattress.

Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick’s torso and squeezed as hard as he could without breaking anything, just in case he changed his mind and decided he wanted to leave after all. He breathed in deeply, inhaling that specific Patrick scent that smelled of old books and fresh wood and just a little bit of cheap aftershave, and he buried his face in the crook of his pale neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the warm skin beneath his lips “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was stupid and angry and I didn’t mean what I said and I’m sorry.”

Somehow, Patrick managed to elbow his way out of Pete’s grip and turned until he was sitting opposite him, cross-legged and like he had things to say. Pete did his best to compose himself and mirrored him, so they were maybe an arm’s length apart.

There was an awkward silence that followed, and wordless staring until Patrick spoke. His voice was low and quiet. “So, umh, this… this has been bubbling up, hasn’t it?” He sighed and nodded before gathering the right words. “I, uh, Patrick, look, I know something’s wrong. I know you, I can tell something is wrong. Don’t cut me off, please, don’t. I’ve…” he paused, unsure of whether to say it before he realized he hardly had a choice in the matter, “I’ve spent a lot of time waiting for you and you’ve… not always made it easy for me.” Patrick was frowning at him, genuine concern painted across his face “how come?”

“Just… you… look, you knew I- I liked you straight away. And it kinda stung when you weren’t… available, but I did my best. I still wanted us to be friends. I pushed those feelings down, I swept them aside, every single time you crossed my mind in a way you shouldn’t. I was doing so well.” Patrick was nodding along, as though he could absorb every word into his flesh. “And then you fucking _kissed_ me. You know what that did to me, Patrick? You know how much that fucked me up?” he seemed genuinely confused with the way he was frowning at the bed sheets as though they were offending him, his already torn nails once again being manhandled. Pete wanted to reach out and stop him, but he knew he couldn’t cave.

“And then the friends with benefits thing, man, I was too fucking weak to resist you, but it nearly broke me! I lived in denial for my own feelings for weeks! And it was making me so unhappy but I couldn’t stop, Jesus, Patrick! You know, I just didn’t understand why you could be dependent on _her_ but not on _me_. It fucking hurt, dude!”

“I thought… I thought you wanted…” The heavy sigh escaped Pete before he could stop himself and he smacked an open palm against his forehead. “I just told you, it was bad for me. I wanted it the way I want to eat nothing but Pizza all day every day. Or the way I wanted to drive the car into a brick wall before.” Patrick’s head snapped up and he stared at Pete alarmed. He just waved it off. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, see, now you’re doing it! Fuck, Pete, you just told me _not_ to cut you off and now…. Fuck! Don’t…” He groaned loudly and drove a hand through his hair, knocking his hat off in the process and not even bothering to pick it up as it fell to the floor. “Don’t do that.”

Now it was Pete’s turn to be the confused one, “don’t do what?”

“Don’t do that thing where you act like you’re fine. Because you’re not fucking fine you’re… you’re not, Pete you really, you really need, like, I dunno, I wanna help you so bad but… but I don’t know…. I don’t wanna bring shit up. I don’t. But I’ve read your stuff and it… it breaks my heart, you know?” Their eyes met and Patrick’s were filled with something that might have been hurt.

“What, my ‘shit’?” Pete pointedly asked, making his… whatever Patrick currently was to him wince. “I’m… I’m sorry about that, I get, huh” he pressed out a forced little laugh that annoyed Pete but made his heart flutter at the same time. “I just get… I…” Patrick tore his eyes away and looked at something on the wall Pete couldn’t see. His mouth was open just a little bit and he was blinking rapidly. _Don’t cry, please, don’t cry._ Patrick swallowed audibly and shook his head, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. One of his fingers was bleeding. Pete had to fight himself to not take it between his own and kiss it. Arguing with people you love is never easy.

“I get… this thing where… and I really shouldn’t complain to you because I know I.. I’m pretty… I just wanna…” he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, gathering himself. Pete was teetering between annoyed and endeared again. “I know I’ve been nothing but trouble for you”, he said, his voice slow and steady, like a horse plodding through mud, “I know I’ve treated you terribly at times. I know you deserve… you deserve so much better than me. But I’m such a fucking coward, Pete. I’m such a coward and I… I couldn’t take that leap and… the days before I quit at the cl- before I left, were some of the worst of my life. And I know these are all excuses and I just need to get my act together and sort my head and stop being so selfish and scared all the time but-“ Patrick cut himself off once he noticed his tongue was tripping over his words again. Pete just sat there, marinating in his words. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to roll his eyes at the fact that Patrick was making this all about him again, just so he could shift the blame and didn’t have to own up. “What I’m trying to say is… I know I fucked up. And… and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t… I couldn’t be better.”

“Look, Patrick, don’t fucking guilt-trip me here, you saying that will just m-“

“No, listen, I… I’m mad at myself. This isn’t, like, me going ‘oh, I’m not good enough, boohoo, cuddle me so I feel worthy’, I genuinely want to… to get better. But I guess I got too comfortable and… I just… was always… I always felt I’d… I’d lose you if I changed but I’d lose you if I stayed the same? Which is why I’ve been… kinda… so, like, distant and… pretty mean, I guess.” He looked up and Pete saw blue eyes shining beneath golden brows. “I know what I did on the plane was… it was one of those situations, y’know, where anxiety gets the better of you? And you do dumb shit? And you regret it as soon as you do it? But you, like, don’t know… you’re in too deep so you can’t apologize because then you’ll have admitted to yourself you fucked up and then that makes it worse and you say more dumb stuff and- yeah, you know that.” Pete nodded. He knew it all too well.

“I shouldn’t have… you’re scared shitless of flying. And I didn’t even know until I saw you down those… those pills. I guess that made me kinda angry. At myself for not noticing but at you for not telling me. I wish you’d tell me these things, Pete! And you’re so… so reckless sometimes, it’s like you don’t give a shit what happens to you.”

He wanted to shrug it off, he really did. His shoulder was already twitching, but in the last moment, he managed to stop himself. “I’m sorry, I just… I never… I never really learned how to deal with this stuff and nobody… I never had anybody who I could talk to so I don’t and… I never had a reason to look after myself or, or anything, really, and you’re the first- I grew up knowing nobody cared, so… nobody cares.”

His head had dropped with every word from his lips until he was hugging his knees in front of him and looking at the ugly floral pattern on the comforter. He looked up when a hand curved its way into one of his. “I care”, was all Patrick said, his voice hushed, almost a whisper.

The problem was, that doubt was so indoctrinated, so much a part of Pete, he couldn’t believe it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. and yes, maybe the fact that Patrick had made him wait for so long played a part in it. “Why?”

Pete felt dumb when Patrick groaned. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Wait.

What?

Somewhere, Pete’s mind drifted out of existence and settled itself on a plane somewhere in another life where he wasn’t sick and where he wasn’t riddled with self-doubt and where his family hadn’t abandoned him and where he wasn’t living the normal, boring life he’d promised himself he would never lead, but rather something exciting and beautiful and daring and different in a place where the grass was always green and the sky was always cloudy, that calm before the storm, that state of grace Pete loved more than anything, where Pepper was still alive and kept bringing him sticks to throw and barked at him when he ignored her for too long. He hadn’t been there in a long time.

A defence mechanism. That’s what the doctor had called it. Pete went there when reality became too much, when he couldn’t cope with it. His own little mind provinces he entered when everything was going a little too fast. A faint memory of somebody called Goffman crossed his mind.

The last time had been when he’d found himself homeless, alone and starving… finding himself back in that headspace seemed… off… after ten years, it was too strange to be familiar. But somehow… that wasn’t all. What was he doing there? Why was he there? What had pushed him?

The first thing Pete noticed when he started to become aware of his surroundings again was how cold he was. He was shaking so violently the ground was shaking with him. Oh God, the ground was shaking. Was this an earthquake? Had he caused an earthquake?

No, no, he was sitting on something… something soft and flexible. Bubbles, no, foam, no, feathers, no… yes, yes, feathers… a blanket, he was sitting on a blanket and a duvet and a bed. He was on a bed. He wasn’t shaking that badly, really. He wasn’t at home, it wasn’t _his_ bed. Was somebody talking? What were they saying? Who was touching him? No, actually, please carry on touching, that feels good it feels….

His head suddenly came above water and he gulped in the air that was reality. Patrick was gripping his hands so tightly Pete’s knuckles were white. He was sitting at a distance that told Pete he wanted to get closer but didn’t dare, like he was tending an injured stray that could lash out any minute. Pete didn’t blame him.

“Pete, Pete are you okay? Pete, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was terrible timing, I’m sorry, are you okay?” His hearing was working again. Nice to know. Pete shook his head in an attempt to clear himself of any alternate realities threatening to engulf him and rob him of this moment. “I’m, yeah, I’m… fine.” He still felt a bit hazy, like he’d just woken up, but he’d arrived back on Earth. Patrick’s smile was one of relief more than anything. “Oh thank God, you scared me, Pete.” Pete felt soft knuckles brush across his right cheek and he leaned into them, humming gently.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Pete lifted his hand so he could hold it against the one stroking his face. It was pretty cold considering Patrick’s hands were usually sweating 24/7. “I… my bad timing. I’m sorry, I know like… that’s a pretty big thing and jumping it on you when we’ve just had a massive argument and heart-to-heart probably wasn’t… it wasn’t, like, the most intelligent thing I’ve ever done. And you don’t need to… to say anything, but I just… yeah, you know now. And that’s… that’s just how it is and I-“

Pete leaned forward and pressed their lips together. It was like he was breaching the surface for the second time within minutes and he started wondering what he’d have done if Patrick had never come back because he felt like he needed this to live.

Fuck, he’d turned into such a fucking cliché, it was painful.

He pulled back slightly, so their lips were only just brushing and his nose was just shy of Patrick’s cheek. “I love you, too,” he whispered so quietly he wasn’t even sure if he’d said it. But Patrick lunged forward, re-connecting their lips and wrapping his arms around Pete so tightly he thought he might burst. Patrick’s legs were clamouring onto Pete’s waist and he was sitting in Pete’s lap and they were about as close as they could physically get without breaching each other’s bodies. Well, their tongues were. Desperately trying to gather up every inch of each other, or as much as they possibly could, until Pete started laughing. Fucking laughing, with the worst timing ever.

But to his good fortune, the man he was with was made of sunbeams and puppies and first kisses and everything good and his eyes were glowing with sheer happiness when he joined in.

They sat on the double-bed in their little cabin in the middle of Alaskan woods laughing their hearts out in each other’s arms. And Pete realized he’d never want Patrick any other way.

 

 

 

“Mhh… dare.”

“Okay, point out every scar you got from another person.”

Patrick sighed and pulled up his shirt, pointing to the thin mark across his chest Pete had wondered about before, before tugging down his jeans and indicating the one across the backs of his thighs.

Seeing as they were both terrible at opening up, they were playing truth or dare: Dark past edition. It was working surprisingly well and Pete didn’t fail to see the coincidence that they were both almost equally fucked up in their own ways once Patrick had listed all the various anxiety and ADHD meds he’d been on throughout his life, even the odd anti-depressant.

“How did-“ but Patrick held up a finger and shook his head. Pete nodded, understanding. They’d agreed not to push if it was something too personal or too triggering. It was probably a really fucking bad idea doing this so far away from the safe space they called home and shrinks they trusted, but then again, they kinda always did stuff their way.

“Truth or dare?” Patrick countered once he’d pulled his jeans back up and sat himself back down.

“Truth.” Pete kept chickening out of the dares and it made him feel dumb.

Patrick paused, as though he wasn’t sure he could ask the question evidently burning on his tongue. “Ask it, worst that can happen is I don’t tell you,” Pete tried to sound unbothered, but he was close to breaking a sweat.

“Where did… Where were you before? When you… when you zoned out, where did you go?”

Pete nervously chewed on his lip, feeling his face tug into an ugly frown. He didn’t really want to think about it. “It’s, uh… I don’t…. it’s only happened three times before, I’m… it’s fine.” He was grateful when Patrick didn’t push any further, understanding the need of keeping some things to yourself where nobody else could corrupt them.

“Truth”, Patrick’s gentle voice broke the deafening silence that followed, cutting through it like a knife. “I pick truth.” Pete nodded his head, still a little distant but trying to think of a good question to ask. There was one that had been burning on his tongue for weeks, one he didn’t know whether he could ask. But he needed to. He couldn’t be here if he didn’t know, even if he didn’t want to. It was the unopened exam result that had already been written in stone, but as long as you stayed away from it, you’d never find out.

“Why did you stay with her? When you could have had me? And don’t give me the financial excuse, Trick, I would have supported you. How would being dependent on me be worse than being dependent on them?”

Patrick had gone back to worrying his nails. Pete wished he’d stop. “Have you, uh… have you ever had an old pet?” Pete nodded, feeling his heart sting a little. Where was this going? “So… you know what that’s, what it’s like. Having this creature you… you love so much and you would do anything for, a best friend, somebody you wanna spent, like, the rest of your… of your life with, yeah? But every time you, like, look at them, you know… it’s like, it’s like your brain is telling you not to get any more attached, because you’re gonna lose them and… and, like, you wanna spend every waking hour with them because of that, right? But you know the more you get attached, the more it will hurt and… it’s the most painful thing.”

A flash of curly, black fur and button eyes crossed Pete’s mind, he shooed it away before it could cause too much damage. “You’re… you’re my dying pet.” Maybe had the context been a different one, Pete would have laughed at how absurd that statement was. As it was, it hit him a little too hard. “I wasn’t… I’m a fucking mess, Pete. We haven’t even scratched the surface here. And I was scared you’d… dump me and I’d be stranded. At least with her I was… I knew… And then the whole thing with”, he loosely waved a hand over his head and Pete knew what he was alluding to, “I was so painfully aware that I was playing you, not… I didn’t know how bad it was for you, I thought you were okay with it, but I… I thought that, maybe, being what we were you might, you might never see me as… any different. So I just, I got scared. It makes no fucking sense, it never does in retrospect, but at the time I was… it was like I knew we were doing the worst possible thing but I didn’t know how to stop because I was so fucking addicted to you. I just… I still don’t think… youre gonna get tired of me, you’re gonna… gonna realize you could do so much better and… I mean, now at least I could probably just about get by, and with the show on the rise and whatnot…”

They sat still for a moment, Patrick picking at the wooden floorboards as Pete watched his sore fingers break and bleed. He couldn’t stop himself anymore, he reached out and took Patrick’s hand in his, who lifted his head and let their eyes meet as Pete raised the fingers to his mouth and kissed every rough fingertip gently before pressing the soft palm to his cheek. A small smile played at the corners of Patrick’s mouth, but his eyes were still filled with hurt. “You’ve got a whole load of self-esteem issues.” Pete muttered, more to himself than anything else, but Patrick picked up on it with a nervous little giggle. “Yeah. It’s what a toxic relationship doe to you.” Pete didn’t like the way he almost casually shrugged it off, as though he hadn’t been abused for the past how many years of his miserable life.

“I love you, though. I mean it, whatever weird bullshit is going on in that head of yours, I’m ready to have it thrown at me.” He got no smile in return, but Patrick nodded and he knew he believed him. Pete inelegantly shuffled forward on his ass, causing Patrick’s brows to shoot up in judgement, until their knees were touching. “Hey, don’t give me that look!” Patrick held his hands up in defence and acted like he didn’t know exactly what Pete was talking about.

Pete gently traced his fingers up and down Patrick’s thigh as they kissed, ghosting over the sensitive spots he’d become so familiar with. The backs of his knees, the insides of his thigs, his lower belly, he teased every one of them until Patrick couldn’t stifle the small moan that slipped out when Pete added the other hand and stroked that spot on the back of his neck.

Pete carefully pushed forward, one arm clasped around Patrick’s back so he wouldn’t fall, gently bringing him into a lying position. Pete lay over him, sliding comfortably between his open thighs where he slowly started grinding against his crotch. Somehow the fact they were both fully clothed was simultaneously stupidly hot and insanely frustrating.

Patrick’s fingers were tangled in his hair when Pete started unbuttoning the pale blue shirt. He dipped his head to kiss down the pale neck, sucking slightly at the crook, sinking his teeth in and licking across the mark he was making. Patrick was his. Only his. He wanted the world to know. He wanted anybody that looked at his boyfriend with interest to know he wasn’t for them. Pete opened the shirt and licked a stripe down to Patrick’s solar plexus, moving back up from there. The cliché gasp Patrick let out and the writhing that followed when Pete bit down on one of his nipples made his ears perk up. He made sure to pay excessive attention to both before moving towards Patrick’s mouth again. “Didn’t know you’d be into pain, I wish you’d told me”, Pete’s voice was low and dangerous and somewhere he didn’t know if he wanted to go with Patrick, but fuck, it was hot having him lying half naked on the floor, skin already dampening, nipples pink and perky, jeans way too tight for his own good.

“Fuck, Pete, please…” his voice was breathy and desperate when Pete palmed him through his pants and he rocked upwards in an attempt to create more friction. “What do you want, baby?”

Patrick whined at the nickname. “I want… I want… kiss me.” Pete decisively pressed their lips together, not wasting any time as he slid his tongue into Patrick’s mouth. He felt his belt being unbuckled clumsily and the next thing he knew, his fly was open and his dick was hard and heavy in Patrick’s hand. “I need you”, Patrick sounded like he might cry, “I need you to fuck me. Please, do me like you love me.” Pete nodded, his expression soft as he gently slid Patrick out of the rest of his clothes, planting soft kisses all over his milky white body.

 

 

Pete found Patrick sitting at the small iron table outside when he came out of the shower. It was cold, so he made sure to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. He always dressed too lightly for the weather, it was a miracle he hadn’t died yet.

The sun had set maybe half an hour ago and out in the woods with the city far away, the stars lit up the world around them. Patrick shuffled closer to Pete sitting next to him on the bench until he could rest his head on Pete’s shoulder. “I like it here”, he stated plainly, “it’s peaceful. Not like home where everything is loud and busy.”

Pete hadn’t been aware of how much he loved dreamy Patrick until he’d fallen into his hopelessly trapped and anxious mindset during the last months. He had a feeling that was what he’d initially fallen for, Patrick’s enthusiasm for just about anything. He could take the most ordinary occurrence and turn it into something magical with his words in a way Pete never could. Pete’s words were all about emotions. Patrick’s were about his world. He always figured he had a Van Gogh thing going on, in the sense that he could see incredible beauty in the simplest things. Yes, the night sky was beautiful. But Patrick saw so much more than that, he saw the way the universe had managed to create that beauty by means of pure coincidence, he saw how incredibly precious every aspect of existence was, he managed to find a deeper purpose where he didn’t even believe in one himself.

Everything was art in Patricks eyes, and were it not a little too corny, Pete would say Patrick was art in his.

“I think we should ignore what happened these last two days from tomorrow. Not… not forget it, not treat each other like it never happened, but… but learn from it without ever bringing it up.” Pete wasn’t sure he agreed with that. He liked the thought of it, but that didn’t mean it was sensible. “I don’t know, Trick, we’re both kinda fucked up. I don’t wanna promise you I won’t ever bring it up again when I might have to someday. And someday you’ll definitely need to know more about… me and… what I’ve been.” He saw Patrick’s eyes catch the starlight as he looked up at him. “Then tell me. Tell me now. Please.”

Pete sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to collect his thoughts and sort his head, making sure he wouldn’t flip out. “I was… uh… my parents died. When I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry.” Pete felt fingers curl around his hand. “My mom, she, she got sick. It was hard as fuck, she sometimes felt like the only person who gave a… who cared. I was always kinda… more on the negative side on the mental health spectrum, but it got so much worse from there. I was on a shit tonne of meds for anxiety and ADHD and depression and God knows what, I don’t even… my dad followed her shortly after. We just figured he was heartbroken, I dunno. Sometimes I kinda hate him for abandoning me, but sometimes I get it.” He paused to squeeze his eyes shut and take a few steadying breaths. Patrick was gently stroking a thumb across his knuckles. “I went to live with my aunt. She was… a challenge. Very old republican. God knows why she agreed to harbour a teenage boy. Anyway, I was just figuring shit out with my… my sexuality and stuff, y’know, and being around somebody who kept saying boys liking boys was unnatural and perverse wasn’t exactly beneficial to my mental health when all I wanted to do all day was make out with Mikey Way from AP English. Anyway, I started taking more and more pills which made me more and more of a dick and more and more people started avoiding me until I couldn’t take it, I didn’t… didn’t wanna live.” Pete felt ears in his eyes as he told Patrick about how one day, he stood in front of the mirror and swallowed as much as he could of whatever was at hand. A soothing hand was gently stroking up and down his back. “The crazy…. The crazy thing was, when I woke up… in hospital, I saw… I know I can’t have and it sounds fucking mad, I swear, but I saw my mom. By the bed. And she was… crying. No, no, don’t say anything, I know it was… a fever dream or whatever, I don’t… whatever it was, it made me clean myself up.”

“You did well, Pete, you did so well, I’m so proud of you.”

“You would have hated who I was, you really would. I was so… angry and selfish. I did so many people so dirty, I’m kinda glad you didn’t know me back then”, he laughed bitterly, “anyway, uh, I got… I thought things were looking up and then just after I finished school, like, I was hoping I’d get to college and shit, I, uh got outed and- and kicked out.” Patrick drew a sharp breath “I was homeless, like, not for long or anything, but… I wanted to die again, I just… stopped trying to eat and everything, I didn’t care and then… fuck, I can’t tell you, I’ll sound fucking crazy.”

Patrick’s hand had reached the side of his head now, gently stroking the dark hair there. “I don’t think anything could make you seem more crazy to me, Pete.” Pete nodded gingerly. “Ah, uh, woman gave me money one day. Not loads but quite a bit. Enough to get me cleaned up enough to find a job in a back alley club where I met Gabe. She was… I don’t know, just kind? And I asked her why and she said she had a kid in a hopeless situation, I dunno…. It sounds so stupid, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t blame any guardian angel looking out for you.” Pete blinked at him doubtfully “you believe in that kinda thing?”

“Nah, not really. But I believe good things happen to good people. You deserve good things.” Pete didn’t know if he’d call a suicide attempt and homelessness nice things, but he appreciated the sentiment. He placed a soft kiss against the top of Patrick’s head. “We’re here now, that’s all that matters”, he pointed out, whether to Patrick or to himself, Pete did not know.

“I want to go to the beach tomorrow”, Patrick decided. “I wanna walk along a beach holding hands like the fucking cheesy gay couple we are.” Pete found himself laughing at the directness of that, though he had to admit, it did sound rather good. “Yeah, yeah, I like the sound of that. Cold beach day followed by a nice restaurant and like, doing romantic shit in a cabin in the woods somewhere.” Patrick nodded in approval and failed to stifle the huge yawn he let out.

 

 

\---

 

“Ugh, sand is all fun and games until it’s between your toes.” Patrick pulled a disproving face as his feet sunk into the gooey, damp ground. “You said you wanted a sandy beach!”

“Yeah but… still. Let me complain. I’m a complainer, it’s what I do. Now kiss me whilst the wind isn’t blowing my hair into my mouth.” Pete rolled his eyes at his boyfriend, who had done absolutely nothing but moan and groan since they had arrived. He was enjoying himself, it was a pretty beach and the weather was that perfect, cool summer cloudiness with a strong, maritime wind whipping across their faces. He wrapped an arm around Patrick’s waist and pulled him in close. He still fucking loved it, being publicly cringy after having to sneak around for so long. Patrick went soft and compliant when Pete kissed him, as though he was draining all the sass and annoyance out of his body.

When they pulled apart, lips red and slick, Patrick was grinning up at him. “If it weren’t so cold we could go swimming!”   
“We could, yeah”, he liked that idea, but he was slightly taken aback by Patrick’s willingness to strip down in public. He wasn’t usually a fan of swimming where people could see him.

They continued their walk without too many complaints from Patrick. He kept skipping ahead like a little kid, dipping his toes into the cold ocean and drawing things in the sand. “That’s so fucking cheesy I want to die.” Pete commented when he spotted the obnoxiously huge P + P in a heart in the sand. Patrick pouted at him and pointed out how they were a gay couple from Chicago and he was an artist and was totally allowed to be a stereotype. Pete sighed and rolled his eyes when he wasn’t looking.

He was very glad of his camera though. Patrick was so focussed on being the oldest kid in a 20 mile radius he wasn’t paying attention to the snapping shutter and Pete knew he was going to use at least two for his blog and have the three of Patrick a) having his hat blown off b) running after his hat and c) falling over in an attempt to catch his hat printed on canvas to decorate the wall next to his door.

He wanted to convert the very special one of Patrick sitting cross-legged just out of reach of the waves, looking out over the sea with an expression of pure satisfaction into black and white and frame it so he could put it on his nightstand and see it every morning. Especially now that he suspected Patrick would be spending more and more time in LA and less and less time with him.

He’d been ecstatic when Patrick had received the mail telling him their show had been pushed into prime-time and consequently he’d be paid a better wage. It meant that after years, Patrick could finally be stable, independent. It was all he wanted. Maybe that was why his mood was so all over the place today.   
Soon, though, the fear had settled that, if Patrick was earning decent money, he might move out. Admittedly, it might not be a bad idea, this was only supposed to be temporary, and Pete’s flat was too small to accommodate Patrick. He made up for his height by having a hobby that took up a lot of space. Except it was a job now and he’d been complaining more and more about how much not having a drum kit sucked, or how he needed more guitars, or how he missed the convenience of a piano.   
_If you love me, let me go._ Pete sighed heavily as he watched Patrick kick up sand with his bare feet. He’d complained greatly when some of the stuff had got into his shoes and he’d had to remove them, exposing himself to any of the nasty things lurking on the ground. That’s how he saw it, anyway.

They found a nice seafood restaurant just off the pier. It was a little pricey, but Pete insisted on them going in, even if Patrick had hesitated. He’d come off his weird, kiddish high and was back to regular Patrick. Well, regular Pete-Patrick. Regular Peterick. Patrick was a little sassier and more opinionated when he was around Pete. Usually, he lived not to offend, often keeping his mouth shut and smiling sweetly. That, in turn, meant he needed somewhere to let out the pent-up anger.

But for now, he was enthusing about how incredibly awesome marine life was and his fascination with the fact that the seas were so unexplored there could well be mermaids and we might never know and why were people investing in war and conflict when they could invest in science and find mermaids over a plate of octopus. Pete had pulled his nose at the tentacles and concentrated on his Bass instead, he wasn’t really a seafood guy. He liked fish a lot, though.

“Y’know… I might have a treat for you later”, Pete’s ears piqued when Patrick lowered his voice over the mousse, “for being such a supreme dick the last few weeks.”

“Oh, no, you we-“ Pete went to excuse him, but was cut off, “No, we said yesterday, we gotta learn, I’m learning. I was a dick, have been for a while, so now I’m gonna give you some.” Pete couldn’t decide whether the delivery was smooth or cringeworthy, he was a little too preoccupied on not choking on his wine. Patrick’s lip was caught between his teeth in a cheeky grin and Pete could already feel his blood flooding south.

He quickly called for the bill and over-tipped because he was drunk and horny and on a date with his beautiful boyfriend and he totally could do that.

Pete was pretty convinced Patrick was trying to get them into an accident with the way he kept dropping his hand to Pete’s thigh and squeezing it, or shifting in his seat and making little humming noises, different from the ones he usually made.

All Pete wanted when they got back was to get on his knees or bend over the table and be fucked there and then, but Patrick insisted on lighting a load of fucking candles they were certain to forget about and taking a shower. He sent Pete into the bedroom, instructed him to take his clothes off and wait for him on the bed before wandering into the bathroom, humming a familiar tune. The sound of the running water felt like the world was mocking him as Pete lay on his back, absent-mindedly stroking his rock-hard cock. He’d laid out lube and two condoms – you never knew if you’d need it – and was just waiting in agonizing silence. He’d thought about fingering himself, getting things started so just Patrick could just climb on top of him and get going, but he kinda wanted to see what would happen.

When the water finally shut off and Patrick appeared a minute later, he smelled overwhelmingly of raspberry. God knows why he’d felt the need to take a shower when they were about to get damp and sticky, but his motive was probably just to build up suspension. He couldn’t hide his obvious hard-on though as he sat down, wrapped in a towl.

Pete shuddered the second his hand made contact with Pete’s tan leg. He was gently stroking his calf, inching up a little more evry time, humming contently as he took in every detail of Pete’s body. “How do you want it?” He whispered. Pete’s mouth moved but he couldn’t form words with it. “I… I want you to… to take me. Just…”

“However I want?” He nodded. “Mmmh, won’t complain with that.” Pete felt his legs being pulled apart and the next thing he knew, he felt a tongue against his dick. Pete choked back a pathetic whine, which Patrick giggled at, sending shivers through his entire body. The cap on the lube clicked and Pete tensed with anticipation. “Relax, baby. I need you to relax.” He did his best, focussing on taking long, deep breaths and trying to keep them up as he felt a finger circling his hole. Patrick was really going down on him, his lips sealed tightly around his dick as he hummed, probably to distract Pete from what was going on further back.

Pete squealed and clenched when Patrick slid a smooth finger in, he hadn’t been in this position for so long, he wasn’t used to it. He willed his muscles to relax, to let Patrick in, but it wasn’t working. His dick bounced off his stomach with a gross sound as Patrick pulled off. Pete was almost afraid he’d changed his mind, when all of a sudden, his own went blank.

Patrick’s tongue was warm and wet against him, curling around the finger still buried in Pete’s ass, willing him to open up. A long staccato of a groan flowed out of Pete as Patrick’s tongue managed to push inside to join his finger. It took him a bit, but when he found the right spot, Pete’s hips shot off the bed and he all but cried out. “Ugh, fuck, your _tongue_ Trick!” Patrick giggled against him as he added a second finger, scissoring them, loosening Pete up, preparing him for his dick.

Pete knew Patrick’s dick. He knew what it lacked in length it more than made up for in girth. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Do it”, he gasped when Patrick came up for air, “I’m ready, do it.”

“You sure? I was gonna add a third, just to make sure, you’re pretty t-“

“Patrick, please, please fuck me.” Patrick bit his bottom lip and nodded, pupils blown as he sat back and stroked himself back to full hardness. Pete watched intently as Patrick tore apart the silver foil and carefully rolled on the clear rubber before crawling up the bed until his hands were holding him up, one either side of Pete’s head. He choked back a moan as he felt the head of Patrick’s cock press against him.

He started to feel awkward when it wasn’t working, the pressure Patrick was applying wasn’t sending him anywhere he wanted to be and Pete did his best to concentrate on relaxing. He was with Patrick. He was about to get fucked by the man he loved. He’d closed his eyes at some point, so he didn’t know what was coming when Patrick pressed their mouths together. He slid his tongue past Pete’s lips, but he didn’t hungrily lap him up, it was more like he was trying to savour every inch of him.

And then, all of a sudden, he was inside. Patrick dropped his forehead to Pete’s as he just stilled, giving him time to adjust to the strange as fuck feeling of a dick up his ass. It really had been a long time. “Move. Please, move.”

He certainly was not expecting Patrick to vigorously slam forward all the way in. Pete cried out in surprise, stinging a little, but the lube Patrick had coated himself in made it bearable. “Fuck! Ow!” He wasted no time as he pulled out half way, stretching Pete out so far he kind of wished he’d waited for the third finger after all, before sliding back in.

Slowly, Patrick build up a rhythm, hard and steady rather than frantic, but by no means slow. Pete could feel sweat running down the side of his neck as Patrick grunted into his ear with every thrust. “Fuck, Pete you… you feel so good.” He felt his dick leaking at those words, “you’re so good, all open for me. Fuck, you’re amazing.” It turned out, being on top seemed to make Patrick immediately a little more dominant, too. Pete liked it more than he suspected, not being able to construct an answer so he dragged his nails down Patrick’s back instead.

He lifted his head off Pete’s shoulder and reconnected their lips, roughly biting down on Pete’s as strong, pale fingers tugged at his black hair.

Pete was clouding over it was so intense.

Suddenly, Patrick was completely gone, leaving his body cold and empty. Pete whined pathetically, too frustrated to care how he must look, all spread out and open, desperate to get fucked.

Suddenly, his face was full of pillow, his ass stretched into the air and before he knew it, Patrick had rammed back into him.

Pete realized the benefits of changing the angle the second he felt his prostate. He didn’t even bother staying quiet now, letting himself moan and cry out the entire time Patrick was pounding into him, gripping his hips firmly to pull him closer as their bodies smacked together in a quick rhythm.   
Whilst Pete was way more vocal, Patrick hadn’t changed at all, groaning and talking and cursing through the entire thing, until he hit it just right and Pete came apart. A writhing mess of limbs and cries, he spilled out all over his stomach and the bedsheets they – of course – hadn’t thought to clear away first. He felt like crying, it was so intense, having Patrick, tiny little, shy, blue-eyed Patrick fucking him hard into the mattress, leaving him little to no control was quite possibly the most bizarre and amazing thing to happen to him.

He felt sore and over-sensitive once he came off his high, but the drowsiness dragging him down made it bearable as Patrick continued using him, hurrying himself on to reach his own orgasm. Pete was a wet hole for Patrick to stick his dick in and he fucking loved it. Finally, Patrick gave one, two, three more heavy thrusts before staying pushed deep inside Pete and collapsing over his back, shaking as he moaned – loudly – into his ear.

Pete felt like a part of him was missing when Patrick pulled out and rolled onto his back next to him, chest rising and falling along with his heavy breathing. “Good?” he managed to ask, voice laced with sleep. Patrick just managed to nod enthusiastically as he used the duvet to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “That shower was a bit redundant, wasn’t it?”

“Mmmh, just wanted to wind you up.” Fuck he sounded so hot. How did Pete land him? Patrick was so far out of his league it was painful.

After five minutes or so, Patrick got up to chuck the condom and deal with their mess. He managed to somehow change the cover of the duvet Pete was lying on, then disappeared into the bathroom for a while.

Pete lay on his stomach, not able to think of anything but how at peace he felt. When Patrick re-emerged, he was wearing his batman pyjamas, hair all ruffled, face all pale and doe-eyes and innocent like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes pounding into his boyfriend’s ass. The bed dipped as he slid under the duvet beside Pete.

“You okay?”

“Mmh, very.”

“How’s the ass?” Pete chuckled “sore. I loved it, but I don’t think we could do this too regularly.” Patrick shook his head “nah, I wouldn’t want to. It was fun, getting to stick my dick in you, but I still prefer it the other way round.” He shrugged “fine by me.”

Pete was almost asleep when Patrick flicked off the light and snuggled in properly, pressing a kiss to his forehead and quietly whispering “night, night, love” so as not to wake him up and tear him away from the happiness he was bathing in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo you know who's to blame for this. I'm bad at writing sex it makes me feel weird. Also if this was fantasy, this chapter would have just been a heavy lore-bomb. Let me know if you liked that or not so much.   
> I'm on holiday next week so no update untillll the week after next, but you have this long-ass chapter (nearly 8k words don't say I never do anything for ya) and then the one I uploaded on Monday so yanno. Anyway, I hope it was bearable even if some passages are a bit ooc. Thank you for your Kudos, Bookmarks and comments I appreciate every single one of you! Don't be afraid to leave me a comment :) the End is in sight, my dudes, dudettes and n/b doodlets   
> Stay safe and see you lot soon


	9. That makes Rick a citizen of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh sorry this kinda sucks now the re-written version just isn't as good and i have a feeling I'm missing something??
> 
> TW for homophobia  
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are appreciated

“And that is why…” Patrick interrupted himself to let go of an almighty belch “and that is why Thriller is, is the bestest album. Of, like, all time. Ever. Fuck you if you don’t agree.” Pete snorted as Patrick fell against him sloppily. “I’d rather, heh, I’d rather fuck you.”

“My body is, is special and, and, and sacred and I’m not-“ _hiccup_ “Not sharing with anyone who doesn’t like, uh, what was it? Thriller. Who doesn’t like Thriller.” He stopped in his swaying tracks as though he was trying to remember where they were. When he looked down at what he was holding in his right hand, he giggled at it drunkenly. “Pete, look. A palm tree. It’s in my palm.” It really was a palm tree. Pete staggered towards him, pulling it up to his face and examining it closely. “Why… do you… have a palm. A tree. A tree in your palm tree?” Patrick shrugged “Dunno. Hey, we should plant it!” They both started laughing like little boys stealing chocolate from the kitchen. “But Trick, we donnnn’t have a soil.”

“Oh…” his face dropped as he let his hand sink to his side. “We could plant it somewhere else!”

They spent the next hour drunkenly roaming Chicago in search for a patch of earth they could turn into a hole in which they could condemn the little potted plant they’d essentially stolen from the bar they’d just been in with Gabe and Brendon (who, much to Pete’s distaste, had made it a habit to tag along with them) to an early death by freezing. Palm trees were not made to grow in Illinois. “Hey, hey, we should… plant it on Lake… the lake, the big lake, you know?” Patrick frowned until the memory of a rather large body of water at the city’s edge returned to him. “Lake Michelin!” He’d had a lot to drink. “Nooo, Michigan you idiot!”   
“Oh, yeah. Gotta plant, plant a palm tree on, on… on Lake Michigan. Before it gets cold.”

They only got weird looks their way four times, which wasn’t bad considering they were not walking in the straightest of lines. At least they weren’t loud. At least they weren’t aggressive. Pete just found everything hilarious, especially when Patrick said it, because he was in love with Patrick which meant Patrick was funny.

“We can’t plant it in the sand because it will die in the sand the sand is not good.” Patrick stated bluntly once they’d reached the beach. “There’s grass there.” Pete pointed towards a narrow strip of green. “If there’s grass there’s soil.” He was almost knocked off his feet when Patrick flung his arms around him. “You’re so clever Pete I love you so much.” Yup, cuddly drunk. Pete reciprocated, torn between not wanting to be squeezed to death and not wanting Patrick to let go because it was mid-September and it was cold and Patrick was warm. Patrick was a hot water bottle that worked from the inside.

They managed to dig a hole in the freshly dampened ground – they’d missed the rainstorm earlier – and popped the little tree in it, Pete was still sober enough to remember to fill up the gaps. “It will be big and beautiful!” Patrick declared as he marvelled at their hard work. “Like you!” Pete giggled in his ear. “I’m not big, _fuck_ you” he burped again.

 

“I’m hungry”, Pete declared as they were sitting on their couch an hour or so later, room spinning, or maybe they were. “Mmh, I can’t cook you always complain when I cook.” Pete grunted unhappily “I want Pizza.”   
“You always want Pizza.” He did his best impression of a sulk, although Pete was not a sulker, he had way too much to say to be able to waste time sulking. Patrick leaned to the side until his head was resting in Pete’s lap, knees pulled up to his stomach. “You’re ssso soft” Pete commented as he stroked through the reddish-blond hair, “Soft little Tricky. My pretty boy.” Patrick turned in his lap until he was looking up at him, lying on his back. Pete bent down so he could kiss his lips, first lightly catching them between his, then really pressing their mouths together. Patrick’s hand wormed its way to the back of his head and pulled him closer as he slipped his tongue in Pete’s mouth. “Mmmh, I really wanna fuck, Pete but…” _hiccup_ “You’re drunk and can’t consent and that wouldn’t be nice of me.” Pete frowned down at him “You’re more drunk than me!”  
“Yeah but you’re still drunk. I don’t wanna make you sex me without consent it’s not nice.” Had he had one beer fewer, that comment wouldn’t have just passed Pete by, but as it was he just kept giggling. He was a very giggly drunk. “Make me sex you? You’re a boy. Aren’t you? I mean if you’re not that’s fine, too, boy parts don’t mean you’re a boy…” he explained, catching the wrong meaning of the phrase.

“I’m a boy. I think. What even are boys?” Patrick was staring at the ceiling as if it held the answer to all of society’s questions and it was about to rain the solution to the societal and individual struggle with gender-identity down on him. “Anyway, isn’t sex just my bits?” Pete shrugged. He was too drunk to even understand what they were talking about, contrary to his boyfriend, he did not get philosophical when under the influence of alcohol.

Patrick cuddled even closer into Pete, who hadn’t thought it possible up until that point. His head was beginning to clear a little. “Love you, Weezy.” It was Patrick’s latest nickname for him and he’d complain about it were it not so very Patrick. “Love you, too, Tricky. Wanna go to bed?” He nodded and rubbed his face not unlike a sleepy toddler would. “Come on, you gotta get off me.”

“Carry me.” What the fuck, Patrick may be smaller than Pete, but he sure as fuck didn’t weigh much less, and Pete had really been neglecting the gym recently. “I can’t carry you, you’re too heavy.”

“Don’t call me heavy!” He pouted in return, “You’re strong, carry me.” Giving in was probably a really dumb idea, but he did it anyway, not without making a fuss about it, hopefully so much so this wouldn’t become a thing. “Fine, get off my lap and I’ll carry you into the bedroom.” Patrick pushed himself up giggling so Pete could stand up in front of him. He tucked his arms below Patrick’s knees and arms and summoned all his energy to lift him off the sofa. This was a really fucking dumb idea, especially considering he still wasn’t the most sober he’d ever been. It made Patrick happy, though, as Pete manoeuvred him through their apartment, expertly avoiding any counters or doorframes looking to cause injury. The last thing they needed was a hospital bill.

Somehow he managed to get Patrick tucked up in bed with only one bump to the head. He pulled up the summer duvet until it touched Patrick’s chin and made sure he was warm enough before pressing his lips to the mess of blond hair peeking out from between the sheets. Pete headed for the bathroom, where he steadied himself against the sink with one arm before pulling out his phone. The page was bookmarked, he’d decided the risk of losing it was greater than the risk of Patrick finding it and he really didn’t want to risk losing it. The number of the estate agent was next to the photo gallery of the house, highlighted so nobody could miss it. Pete scanned over the information given again before saving it to his contacts (as Andy’s second number, just in case) so he could call it when he had a free moment.

It had been Andy who’d sent it to him in the first place, probably tired of Pete’s constant whining about how their flat was way too small for the two of them and he hated how often he tripped over shit. He’d been pretty taken aback when the message had arrived earlier that day, but after reading over the details, he thought he got it. He really did, it was near perfect. And if they couldn’t move into Patrick’s house, they could move into a new one and Patrick could sell it. They might be able to afford it without having to take on a huge mortgage then. was it a dumb idea? Probably. But then again, they’d just planted a fucking palm tree on Lake Michigan.

 

 

Patrick was grumpy the next day. It was to be expected, Pete had seen the hangover looming on the horizon the second Gabe had started with the shots and Patrick had been dumb enough to join in until the end, still not having learned that _nobody_ could out-drink Gabriel Saporta. He was sitting on the bench by the dining table in his pyjamas, one of Pete’s hoodies hanging from him with sunglasses on his nose. It looked fucking hilarious and Pete had to fight the urge to laugh at how much he looked like a plucked chicken. Or maybe Sonic the hedgehog. His palms were pressed to his forehead and the humming had been replaced by a low groaning as he stared at the wood his elbows were resting on.

“I told you not to drink so much, but you don’t listen.” Yeah, Pete kinda enjoyed lecturing. “I told you not to drink so much, but you didn’t listen,” Patrick spat back in a mocking tone, “you want a fucking medal or something? Fuck off.” Pete stifled a snort. Had the circumstances been different, he might have been insulted, but then again, this was not something Patrick would say under different circumstances. “I hope you’re better by tomorrow, we’re heading out then.” Pete announced cheerfully as he wiped the kitchen tops. Patrick’s head shot up from his hands and he presumably looked at Pete – he couldn’t tell 100% for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Where are we going?” he sounded suspicious, Pete couldn’t blame him, he’d come up with some rather shit ideas in the past. “Surprise. You’ll like it, promise.”

Pete wasn’t, in fact, sure he’d like it, seeing as they’d be spending a great deal of the day in a car, but Pete had been keeping an eye on Patrick’s record collection and noticed a growing interest in a little Ohio band called… something about planes, and he’d used his best deductive skills to find out about the show they’d be playing in Columbus. Well, abductive skills, really, but apples and pears. Anyway, he was pretty damn proud of himself for coming up with it, he’d given the guys a listen and they were really fucking good, they had three albums out, every one of them filled with bops from start to finish and all in all it seemed like something Pete would enjoy, too. He hadn’t been to a gig in so long.

And he hadn’t had his dick sucked in a really long time, and if this didn’t get him some parking lot oral sex, he didn’t know what would.

Right now, Patrick didn’t look like he was up for any activity whatsoever, least of all a daytrip to Ohio in a cheap rental car or giving Pete a blowjob in said vehicle. He sat, slumped over his black coffee, pale-faced and frankly looking like death and Pete was kinda glad he couldn’t see the death-glare he was being given. “You’d better be right otherwise you’re gonna find yourself involuntarily celibate.”

“Nawh you love bouncing on my dick too much for that.” Patrick shrugged as he lifted the mug to his lips, “maybe.” He groaned loudly as the shrill of the doorbell tore through the apartment. “Who the _fuck_ ” his fingers clasped over his ears as Patrick cursed whoever the intruder at the door it might be. The postman looked pretty disturbed by the array of insults being flung at him from across the room as Pete took the parcel off him, smiling apologetically.

“Fuck you!” Patrick hissed when he shut the door a little too loudly. Pete made a mental note to never let Patrick drink again when he didn’t have at least 500mg of Aspirin in. He set the parcel down on the counter, ready to open it with the kitchen scissors when he was taken aback by the name in the address box. “This is for you.”

Patrick’s brow furrowed for a second before he nodded, “oh yeah, that’ll be my records.”

“You bought records _again?!_ ” he should have known by the shape of the packaging, “Patrick, you’re the cheap one here, always talking about being on a budget!”

“Yeah, but now I’m actually being paid a living wage, I can afford shit like this.” Patrick had always been buying shit like this, except now he didn’t buy them instead of paying the water and electricity bills like he’d been promising Pete ever since they’d moved in. “Don’t you own just about every record under the sun, anyway? Where the fuck are you gonna keep them, that box in the closet is full!” It was only with great difficulty and Pete’s handiness when it came to spontaneously constructing shelves that Patrick had managed to even find the space to set up his turntable. “There’s plenty of space under the bed, now shut up.”

One of the covers was a sort of petrol colour, a guy with a scarf over his face decorating the front. The next was kinda pinkish purple with a load of shapes splattered across it. The last was white, a single rose blooming in the centre. It was this one Patrick handed to him. His voice was considerably softer when he spoke, probably down to the excitement of getting new vinyl, “listen to it. Especially the first track. It’s very us, I dunno.”

Pete raised his eyebrows doubtingly, but did as he was told none the less. The black record player was in the corner or the living area, right above the TV and the cheap stereo. Patrick always stood on a chair to place the records on it, Pete could just about manage without one. Part of him put the wooden board up at that height deliberately. He lifted the dust cover and gently put the disk down on the rubber protection before carefully dropping the needle, ever cautious of damaging Patrick’s beloved vinyl records.

First, there was silence. Longer than the usual opening track, so long he was wondering whether this was some modern art shit about how music was what you made of it and Patrick had wasted 20$ on a pretty cover, but then the sound of rain filled the apartment. Pete checked out of the window just to make sure the weather hadn’t suddenly turned.

It started out as an instrumental track, pretty, really, a synth gently plopping along to the sound of an autumn day. It went on for quite a bit, slowly adding more layers until, finally, the vocal track started up. Pete found himself smiling quietly as he listened to what the artist had to say. Yeah, he got it. He didn’t know why, but Patrick was right. This was them, this was their song.

“Like it?” His thick socks must have padded Patrick’s footsteps, because Pete was surprised when he turned around to see him standing next to their bed. “Love it,” he made sure to keep his voice low, even though Patrick’s mood seemed to have lightened up considerably, it was best to steer clear of loud noises for the minute. “Come here.” Patrick sat down next to Pete, curling into his open arms.

“I love you, Pete.” It was just loud enough for Pete to catch it and he pressed his lips to the top of his head. “I love you, too. Even if you sometimes are the scariest, grumpy fuck in existence.”

A low groan escaped Patrick’s small body as he nestled further into his boyfriend. “I’m never fucking drinking again, I swear it.”

 

 

 

The next time Patrick got drunk was Gabe’s Halloween party. He was renowned for them, and Pete did have to admit, they were quite something.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re doing this to me,” Andy greeted Pete as he walked into their flat. He was dressed – obviously – as Luke Skywalker. The Star Wars group costumes had been his idea, fucking nerd that he was, and, obviously, he’d called dibs on the valiant hero. Pete was fine with Han Solo, though, however, Patrick had punched him in the gut when he’d shown him a metal bikini costume he’d found online. “Nice light sabre,” Pete indicated the plastic stick hanging off Andy’s belt, “thanks, nice blaster.” The “blaster” was a kid’s cowboy gun, but Pete was going for cheap and cheerful, and it wasn’t like they were gonna win the costume contest without a skimpily clad girl. Patrick had lost that one for them when he’d insisted he was covering at least his stomach and thighs, otherwise Gabe could full well have been swayed by his milky white skin. A part of Pete was glad he’d never get to see those parts of Patrick, though. They were his and his alone to enjoy.

“Where’s our princess?” Andy inquired once he’d sat himself down on one of the dining chairs. “Ah, yes, about that, our princess refused to wear the costume so we may have a slightly altered trio, but it’s good, you’ll like it!” He added quickly when he saw Andy’s expression darken. Don’t fuck with Star Wars around Hurley.

As if on cue, Patrick emerged from the bedroom and Pete had to summon up every once of willpower not to burst out laughing. The green face-paint stood out horribly against the red-blond hair, what was almost worse was Patrick’s lips hadn’t been painted properly, so the green was interrupted by streaks of clashing pink. The improvised robes Pete was 99% certain were made up of his second pair of bedsheets were hanging off his tiny frame as though he was a washing line and were so long Patrick kept stepping on them.

Andy looked perfectly horrified.

Patrick looked pissed.

Pete was trying not to have a breakdown.

“Can we just fucking go?” he was a small, grumpy, green man and the most hilarious thing in existence. Pete just nodded, worried he’d not be able to stifle the laughter if he opened his mouth.

Pete was more than relieved that the bar Gabe had booked for them wasn’t the Berlin. He’d been a little nervous about that since October 1st when he’d realized the day was looming. Not that Patrick had explicitly stated that he’d never go back there, but Pete could well imagine it wasn’t a place he’d want to revisit any time soon. Unfortunately, it was possibly Gabe’s favourite place on earth. Pete didn’t know whether enlightening him about the nature of the owner would change his mind, but it wasn’t his story to tell, even if it sometimes did feel awkward knowing Gabe was the only member of their little quartet who wasn’t aware of Patrick’s… situation.

By the time they arrived, Patrick was sweating in the huge winter coat he’d insisted he’d wear so he could hide his face on public transport, though, honestly, he by far wasn’t the worst dressed. “You know you wouldn’t have had this problem if you’d just gone as Leia,” Pete dickishly pointed out as his little Yoda pulled a face at the wet dripping down his back. “I’m not going to a party wearing a fucking bikini, Pete, who do you think I am?” 

“I think it’d be hot,” Pete shrugged and received a perfectly furious glare in return. “Oh come on, you by far wouldn’t have been the least covered!”

“I don’t need the whole room staring at my half-naked body, Pete.” Ah. The teasing expression disappeared from his face and Pete nodded understandingly. He sometimes forgot about these things. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” It was a small relief when Patrick smiled at him reassuringly. “Though I am gonna have to put your skills to test someday,” Pete muttered in his ear, his voice low enough so nobody else could hear it. The sharp burst of laughter made him take a step back in surprise and Patrick moved past him with a whispered, “I think you’d be more than a little disappointed.”

They didn’t win the costume competition. In fact, the three of them barely saw each other once the party had kicked off. Andy met an exceptionally pretty girl about half an hour in, she seemed to be as straight-edge as him, so they happily sat together on the couch in the corner of the room being sickeningly flirty. Patrick had – once again – accepted Gabe’s shot challenge and been completely annihilated to the point where he’d even been convinced to karaoke Britney Spears, dance-moves and all. Pete had made sure to get it on camera, just as something to show his kids one day.

Pete was sitting with somebody he certainly hadn’t expected to see ever again. Finding out about Joe’s family, his wife, his daughter, and his moderately successful band had made Pete feel old. He remembered back when they’d still been a band, back when Pete and Gabe had just moved in together. It was a bit of a mess, Pete wasn’t a great bassist, the drummer had been kinda shitty, and they’d never had a permanent singer, if any of them could actually have made a living with music, it would have been Joe. Good for him.   
What had Pete achieved? He asked himself that when Joe shifted the conversation to him. “I, umh… I guess I moved out? Of Gabe’s flat. I live in the city now.” Joe seemed surprised at that, smug bastard he was. He’d always known Pete didn’t do too well on his own, he saw through him way too well. Maybe that’s why they got on so well. Why exactly had they fallen out of touch, again? “So, you… live alone?” he checked, still doubtful.

“No, no…” Joe seemed relieved, “no, I’m kinda living with my boyfriend. It wasn’t planned it just kinda happened.” A smirk twisted his thin lips “oh wow, Pete Wentz fell in love with his flatmate. You’re such a cliché, buddy.”

“Nah, nah, he moved in after we got together. No, kinda as we got together, it’s… complicated.” Thankfully, Joe just shrugged, his long curls bouncing in time with his shoulders, and took a sip of his beer. He’d always known when to mind his own business, Pete appreciated that. “You should introduce me some day, I wanna meet this… whoever can put up with you on a permanent basis.” It wasn’t malicious, it was just Joe. Pete laughed, he had a point, after all. He knew he could be a handful, even if he’d calmed down considerably since they’d last spoken. “He’s, uh… here somewhere…” Pete’s face scrunched up as he spotted Patrick singing Elton John at the top of his voice and decided not to let Joe know that was his boyfriend just yet.

“Oh, is he the Yoda singing Crocodile Rock?” Ah, well, no point in lying. “Mh, that’s Patrick. He’s not… usually like this…” why was he _always_ more drunk than Pete at these things? He took a deep gulp of his cocktail just to try and deal with second-hand embarrassment at the sight of Patrick’s smeared make-up. “He’s good man, he’s really good.”

“He’s better when he’s not had Tequila,” Pete sighed. “Shame you didn’t know him back in the day, we could have done with him.”

“Yeah, you on guitar, Patrick on vocals and maybe you could’ve got Hurley to play drums. And I could’ve gone off to find somebody else to play with, you guys would totally have over-shadowed me.” Joe snorted, “Nah, you were okay. Besides, you were the best at talking. You could have been our frontman and we could have provided the quality music.” In an attempt to mock hurt, Pete’s mouth dropped open, “hey, just because I can insult my musicality doesn’t mean you can! Besides, my lyrics were okay.”

“Bit emo, but not bad I guess.” He was making way too many good points. Why hadn’t Joe told him all these things ten years ago before he’d figured it out himself? It might have helped him find his sanity just that little bit earlier.

They talked almost all evening, catching up, gossiping and discussing the dwindling quality of Taylor Swift’s music, until the sofa next to Pete dipped and he felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Great, he’d be covered in green. “You okay, buddy?” he checked as a hand absent-mindedly stroked through his hair. Patrick nodded, smearing a bit more of the miscoloured gunk over Pete. “’m sleepy.” He looked it when he sat back, his eyes were puffy and red and Pete doubted it would be weed seeing as he never smoked. “Okay, we’ll get going soon.”

“My face is itchy.” Pete gently rubbed a thumb across his soft cheek to reveal reddened skin. Great. Put Halloween face-paint on the ever growing list of Patrick’s allergies. “Go wash the green off, honey, might make it better.”

“Don’t fucking say I’m allergic to this, too,” he groaned at the realization, but he trotted off towards the wooden bathroom door, anyway, giving Pete a quick peck on the lips first.

Joe was chuckling to himself when Pete turned his attention back to him. “You’re green,  buddy.” Christ, drunk Patrick was such a handful, not only was he like a clingy child, but evidently he enjoyed making a mess of everything around him, as well. Thankfully, Joe had some wet-wipes on him. “Fatherhood,” was his only explanation. Made sense.

“So that’s Patrick, huh?”

“Drunk Patrick,” Pete was quick to point out. Somehow, Joe seemed unbothered, “people are more real when they’re drunk. Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on your face before.” The dim lighting didn’t seem to hide Pete’s questioning expression when he didn’t understand what his long-lost friend was talking about. Long-lost friend. That made him sound so old. “He makes you happy. You love him, right?” Was it that obvious? “Does he love you?” A small smile slipped onto Pete’s face, “he says he does. I don’t understand why, I don’t have much to give him. God, Joe, he’s… ah, I shouldn’t tell you this, but he’s had some shit happen to him and he’s really built himself up, he’s worming his way into fucking Hollywood, for God’s sake, and I’m just here… I’m in my mid-30s and haven’t achieved anything.” Unloading his midlife crisis in front of somebody he’d last seen when he was 23 probably wasn’t a good idea and a pretty shitty move on Pete’s part, but if it bothered Joe, he didn’t show it. “What about your photography you were telling me about?” True, that was something. But it didn’t really feel like much. “That’s just… a thing I do. I dunno.”

“The band is just a thing I do. Hollywood is just a thing Patrick does. Besides, our achievements aren’t always our careers. They’re not always things we do.” Pete was sure Joe was trying to tell himself something, the way he was leaning back in his armchair, legs crossed, beer balanced on the side, his messy hair bushed up around his face making him look like the NPC that would give Pete the necessary piece of information to continue his quest. The fact that the lamp was hanging directly over him only enhanced that image. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying maybe Patrick’s your achievement.” His mouth had just dropped open when he was interrupted by an almighty burp. Patrick really needed to quit accepting Gabe’s challenges. Pete was relieved to see he wasn’t green anymore. Scratch that, he _mostly_ wasn’t green anymore, evidently his drunk brain hadn’t registered his head went on around his face. He tucked his legs up next to him and pulled Pete in for a kiss, his palm flat against the side of his face, just to spread the green a little more.

Joe cleared his throat uncomfortably. As though he’d been struck by lightning, Patrick let go of Pete’s face and sat up to face him, wide-eyed. “Oh. Sorry. I don’t….”

“This is Joe,” Pete introduced him when Patrick gave him a helpless look. “He’s, ah… we used to be in a band together, ages ago.” Of course Patrick’s ear perked up at that. “Hey, you.. never… you were in… in a band?”

“Yep,” Joe cut in before Pete could answer with some apology as to why he’d never brought it up, “we were pretty good. Well, I was. Our drummer was shit and Pete was… okay.” He grinned cheekily when Pete glared at him. “Cooooool, Pete I wanna be in a band!”

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

“I don’t have a band!” His face scrunched up in thought, “hey, you play ba-bass! You wanna be in my band?” Pete chuckled, Patrick’s brain worked at about 5 miles per hour instead of the usual 120 meters per second when he was drunk. “Yes, Patrick, I’ll be in your band.” An absurdly huge grin that warmed Pete’s heart split his face. “Great!” Patrick turned to Joe, “hey Joe, you wanna be in my band? Wait, what do you play?”

“Guitar,” he answered patiently, more patiently than he would have ten years ago. Fatherhood was looking good on him. “Cool! I’ll play drums!”

“Nope,” Joe cut in, “you’re singing.” Patrick’s face and posture immediately dropped, “I can’t sing!”

“Yes you can, you’re really good! You’re singing. Hurley can play drums.” Patrick turned back to Pete when Joe started being confusing again. “Who’s Hurley?” He knew damn well who Hurley was. Sober Patrick did, anyway. “Andy. Y’know, Luke Skywalker.” Pete could almost watch as the confusion cleared from Patrick’s face. “Oooh! Hey, Hurley!” The confidence with which he shouted across the room startled Pete more than his green make-up had.

“What?!” Andy look faintly irritated by the interruption. She really was very pretty. “You wanna be in my band?!”

“Sure!” He yelled, then quickly turned back to the girl. She was smiling at their little group, letting them know she didn’t mind the disturbance. She had Pete’s approval already.

Patrick looked perfectly elated when he turned back to face Pete and Joe. “Cool!” Pete took his chance to roll his eyes at Joe when Patrick almost demonstratively yawned, making Joe laugh.

They made sure to exchange numbers, to Patrick’s delight, who still hadn’t figured out that they were not serious about starting a band, before Pete tucked Patrick up in his huge coat and leaving (without Andy, who was _fully_ engrossed in his new friend). Pete envied Patrick for his extra warmth as soon as they stepped outside, the October… no. November air was cold, biting at his skin through his costume. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow yet, but it was probably getting close. Time for warm fires and hot chocolate.

It was good for Patrick though, who sobered up considerably during their walk home. He wrapped their fingers together and huddled close to Pete, not swaying around like he had last time he’d been drunk, or maybe that was just Pete’s impression because he wasn’t drunk himself.

“Sorry I was being embarrassing, I really shouldn’t drink so much.” The frozen air burned Pete’s lungs as he chuckled lightly. He pressed a kiss to Patrick’s head. “You weren’t embarrassing me, I loved your little rendition of Toxic. Nice moves.” Patrick groaned and thumped his forehead against Pete’s arm. “God, I’m glad I don’t have to witness myself sometimes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I filmed it.”

“No way, Pete, why would you do that to me? Why do you hate me? What did I ever do to you?” he whined. “Well, you’re a total pest when it comes to your records, for a start, I can barely move without knocking something over, and then there’s the thing about you never ever cleaning up after yourself and you never ever cook and you spend half your life working and y-“ it was meant to be teasing, but he was cut off by a hurt Patrick, “yes, okay, I get it. I’m a shit boyfriend. ‘M sorry.”

“Hey no.” He wrapped his fingers around Patrick’s arm to stop him in his tracks and turned him around to face him. Pete raised a hand to his hairline and gently stroked his green-ish forehead. “I mean, it does really annoy me when you leave a trail of destruction wherever you go and I’d be super-grateful if you tried to keep it under control a little, but, like, it doesn’t make you a shit boyfriend, not at all. They’re all you, maybe aspects I don’t like quite so much, but you, and I really wouldn’t have you any other way than you are. I mean, life would be boring if I didn’t risk tripping over a dictionary and breaking my neck with every step I took, right?” Patrick smiled at that. His self-esteem was still so cripplingly low, it had got better, he didn’t take everything Pete criticized quite so personally, but it was still low. That was probably the thing about his that annoyed Pete the absolute most, the fact that he guilt, tripped Pete every time they argued, it had taken him a while, but Pete had realized he didn’t mean it the way it sometimes felt. He didn’t say these things to make Pete feel bad, he said them because he believed them, he really believed he had to apologize for being a bad partner because he never cleaned the toilet.

But it was getting better. Maybe with a bit of work, he could believe Pete when he told him he loved him the way he was. “Sorry I’m like this,” he vaguely waved a hand around his head, “I know you… I know you don’t mean it like that, just… you do so much for me, you offered me a home and your bed and you get me little gifts for no reason and you put up with me when I’m drunk and you drove me to Columbus to see a band you’d heard me mention and you always know how to cheer me up and I just feel like I can’t give you anything in return.”

“I don’t do it because I want anything in return, I do it because you’re important to me.” Patrick smiled up at him, his blue eyes burning gold in the light of the street lamp, “Besides, I get really good sex out of it.”

Something stirred in Pete’s gut when Patrick’s expression changed to something less innocent. He slowly leaned in, still holding Pete’s hand in his, until their noses rubbed together. He was so close when their eyes met Pete swore he could feel the flutter of blond lashes against his cheeks.

Patrick’s lips were warm and soft compared to the gritty cold surrounding them, sucking at Pete’s, heating them up as he drove his tongue along them. Pete opened his eyes when he raised a hand to Patrick’s cheek, simply because he loved seeing the contrast of his tanned, tattooed skin against Patrick’s pale body. He shut them again when teeth tugged at his bottom lip and a small noise slipped out of him.

This was going somewhere. This was promising. But mixed in with Pete’s excitement was a voice telling him not to let this happen, he still wasn’t sure Patrick was totally sober, he was also not sure sober Patrick would ever do this in public. He should stop him, or at least make sure this was really what he wanted, he didn’t want him to do something he’d regret in the morning, he didn’t want anything to ever happen between them when Patrick wasn’t 100% capable of consent, especially not after what he suspected he’d been through.

And then there was another voice, one that didn’t belong to him, one that drifted in from the outside. One that made Pete’s blood run cold.

“What did you just say?” He snapped back at the skinny rat that had walked past. He froze, evidently not reckoning with confrontation, but if he was gonna talk shit, he had to anticipate getting hit. “Drop it, Pete,” Patrick tried to calm him, his eyes wide with… fear? “No, I’m not gonna drop it, fucking say it to my face!”

He looked younger than both of them, taller than them, too, but certainly weaker than Pete. He could take him. “I said fucking fags,” he was trying to keep his voice steady, not so brave now, are we? “Mind your own fucking business, yeah? You jealous because we’re getting more than you?” He instinctively had pushed himself in front of Patrick, shielding him from anything flung his way, physical or verbal.

“I’ll mind my own business when you stay off the streets!” It had been a while since Pete had been confronted with this kind of shit, the last occasion he remembered was when he’d still been wearing skinny jeans. Ah, yes, being called homophobic slurs because of your fashion sense. Although, it had been rather terrible, if he was perfectly honest. Maybe it was because it had been so long that his reaction was totally unexpected, he’d changed quite a bit, after all, and leant when and how to deal with people’s bullshit. He’d also learnt when people’s jaws just needed a good socking. This occasion called for the latter.

The guy staggered back, an array of curses flying at Pete from his lipless mouth when blood dripped down his face. Pete stared at his aching knuckles as though they were a yet to be discovered species of extra-terrestrial life that had acted in a way not even imaginable to him. Patrick was staring between the both of them, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Well.

This was not how Pete had pictured the night going.

“Uh, maybe we should… leave…” he felt a gentle tug on his brown waistcoat. “I… I should get an ambulance,” Pete was already reaching for his phone in his back pocket as he said it, but much to his surprise, Patrick took that hand and simply shook his head. “Nah, he’s old enough to be a dick, he’s old enough to call his own ambulance. Besides, we can’t, we can’t afford his, uh, his hospital bill. Or a court case.”

Fuck Pete loved him. Most of his life was spent treading around eggshells, careful not to insult, making sure everybody felt comfortable, so those moments where he was reminded what a total class-A douche Patrick could be were cherished, especially when they weren’t directed at him.

Just for good measure, Pete pulled him in for a kiss. And he suspected it was for the same reason Patrick said, just loudly enough for the guy nursing his nose to hear it, “I was gonna blow you behind those bins before we got interrupted.”

Pete snorted and quickly led them both away when he spied the dude angrily glaring at them. “Behind the bins? Not exactly classy…” he teased once they’d rounded the corner. Patrick just shrugged lightly, barely visible under the hugely thick jacket Pete wished was big enough for two. “Maybe I can be a filthy little whore, maybe I like that,” he shot back, almost casually. But it more than piqued Pete’s interest. “Wait, you’d be up for it? Fucking in public?”

“Uh uh, no, I never said… never said anything about fucking, dude.” Pete’s heart dropped a little at Patricks mildly horrified expression. “I mean, in private, sure, but I’m not getting my ass out when there’s a risk of anybody but you seeing it!”

“Okay, blowjobs, then?”

“Maybe.”

He stopped asking after that, not wanting to spoil Patrick’s ever-teetering mood. Pete knew it was hard for him, essentially juggling two lives, and it would probably get harder. Patrick was spending more and more time down in LA, he’d even started looking at apartments around there, not that he could afford it.

Part of Pete wanted to go with him, to say ‘fuck it’ and just go and live in California with his boyfriend and be happy, but he had his job, he had his flat, he had…

Maybe he understood Patrick just a little when he realized how hard it was to just dump the past and everything you have, take that step to risking everything just on a whim. He knew he wasn’t the strong one in this relationship.

Pete fucked Patrick under the shower, not making a huge thing out of it, he just hopped in, spent three minutes with his dick up his ass until they’d both come and hopped out again. Patrick’s hair was still wet when he crawled into bed next to Pete. He never fucking dried it off properly, ever.

“At least you won’t be hungover tomorrow, you’re insufferable with a headache,” Pete muttered into the darkness. Patrick’s voice was drowsy when he spoke, his meds must have been kicking in. “What makes you so sure?”

“I wouldn’t have come in with you if you’d been drunk, you know that.” The low hum seemed to be an affirmation, at least that was how Pete interpreted it.

He’d almost drifted off himself when he was dragged back to at least semi-consciousness by Patrick’s sluggish speech. “Thank you for… uh, like, for putting up with me. I know I’m-“ _yawn_ “I know I’m a, a handful. Sometimes. And, like, I totally appreciate it.”

Pete kinda felt this was something that should turn into a longer conversation, maybe this was the point where they should have talked about their underlying fear of the past returning, maybe they should have discussed how what had happened to them made them feel, maybe it would all accumulate in them confessing their deepest, darkest fears. But Pete didn’t want to have to explain why he was so terrified of Geese, not right now, not when he felt so calm. So he just nuzzled their faces together and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters, weyy. Yeah, sorry, I've finished this now. And made 9329032093 backup copies.
> 
>  
> 
> I have a few ideas for my next fic but idk what I should write so I thought I'd let you decide, tell me in the comments  
> -Patrick lives on a farm with his homophobic parent(s) and shares their views to some extent, Pete works as a hand there  
> -A historical AU I haven't decided on  
> -Pete needs to get away from his life and moves to a town in the north of Scotland where he meets a guy nobody really knows anything about and everybody seems to have a different opinion of  
> -Pete is a rich guy in a big city, Patrick is a prostitute  
> -Patrick is wheelchair bound
> 
> it's all Peterick, some of them will attempt to be angsty (especially the second to last one) so js let me know what you'd be most keen to read and I'll try to get that done next.


	10. When I said I would never leave you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ready for another baaaad chapter?

It wasn’t a large tree. Nor a particularly beautiful one. To be honest, Pete thought it was kind of ugly, small and quite bare, the few needles it had kept falling off and making a real mess of the carpet below it. It got in the way a lot, obscuring the view out of the window from his favourite spot on the couch, so he couldn’t even appreciate the early snows, and when it wasn’t in his line of vision, he was falling over it trying to get to the bookcase behind.

But Patrick had wanted it. He’d been pretty insistent, really, determined they would celebrate Christmas properly. As far as Pete was concerned, a proper Christmas was binge-watching boxsets with Gabe. As far as Patrick was concerned, Christmas was baking biscuits and cakes, drinking hot chocolate and orange-flavoured tea, decorating trees and putting up lights everywhere. Christmas was pretty, that’s what he always said. The world could be so ugly, this was the one time of year people found peace, the world slowed down and everybody appreciated life for a moment.

Of course the only thing to do was give in to the insufferable begging, Patrick just had him wrapped around his little finger like that. And, if he was honest, that one Sunday morning where he’d woken up next to his little body wrapped in thick, cotton pyjamas and the snow had been falling outside and Patrick’ blue eyes had cracked open and crinkled into a smile when he spotted the white on the window sill had been one of the best moments of Pete’s life.

What he didn’t appreciate so much, however, was the baking. Specifically, the fact that he had to do it all by himself. Okay, not all, he’d had help on the first batch of cookies, but even then, Patrick had mainly done the frosting. He’d then proceeded to happily munch his way through them as though they were going out of fashion before realizing, two days before Christmas, that, oh shit! They were out of cookies!

Pete was not a master baker. He could bake, yes, but the flower that stuck to his hands, his apron, his… everything was not worth the outcome as far as he was concerned. Especially when it was combined with the unnecessarily exhausting juggling of baking trays, oven time and dough-making. He didn’t want to hear one single complaint about him sweating onto the biscuits, not _one_.

And now he’d run out of eggs, fucking great! Pete sighed heavily and threw away the last bowl of semi-finished dough he was actually making, no use if he had no eggs. At least that was his excuse for only making half the amount he’d been instructed. He didn’t fully understand why he was the one who’d ended up with this job, anyway. Okay, yeah, he had the time, but still….

The oven beeped, tearing Pete up off his spot on the couch facing the badly decorated Christmas tree (tinsel. It literally had tinsel on it). At least this tray hadn’t burnt, he realized as he carefully slid the last one in. They were still too hot for him to touch, another excuse, really, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice his fingers for the damned biscuits.

With the timer set and the fresh tray covered with foil, Pete decided to leave the cleaning until later (knowing full well he would more than regret it) and dragged himself off to bed. It was only 5 p. m., but it was Christmas, or nearly, and he felt he deserved a nap after a day of baking. Well, he’d only been baking for three hours, but that counted enough.

Pete tugged the thick duck-down duvet up to his chin and wrapped it around his body, the crispy warmth of the bedclothes shielding him from the chill of the room. It was cold, almost too cold, when he didn’t have the heat of the oven in his back. But the bed was warm and soft. And it smelled of Patrick. The realization made Pete’s face settle in a content smile.

 

“Pete! Pete, darling, wake up!” A hand was gently stroking over his hair. “Come on, it’s 6.30, you won’t be able to sleep later, you doofus.” Pete nuzzled into the palm resting against his face. “Peter! Get up!” His eyes snapped open at the stern tone as shock gripped him. But only for a brief fraction of a second until he looked up and was greeted with a big, toothy grin and shining blue eyes. “Sleep well?”

“Wha-?” Patrick chuckled to himself at the sight of Pete’s sleepy features and the pillow crease across his cheek. “Come on, get up. Dinner’s ready.” With that, he got off the bed and slipped back into the living room, Pete’s eyes never leaving him.

The smell of yoghurt and spice his Pete when he walked into the kitchen. Patrick was dishing up whatever food he’d prepared, he slid up behind him and wrapped his hands around his waist as his chin rested on Patrick’s shoulder. “Mmmh, curry. Nice. Very festive.” The yellow sauce he got splatted on him in return would leave a permanent mark on his light grey t-shirt, yet another thing in his life changed forever by his counterpart.

There had been a lot of changes, mainly ones he hadn’t noticed until they had already established themselves. Most of them subtle, like the fact that he now used herbal-flavoured toothpaste rather than the classic peppermint because Patrick didn’t like it. Or wiping his feet when he came in which he never used to bother with.

And then there were the bigger things. Like always making sure the restaurant they went to had a vegetarian option, or making sure to lay out his meds for him every evening because he never took them of his own accord. Or the fact that, maybe, just maybe, he was kind of looking forward to Christmas.

“You love my curry, you say it’s the only thing I cook that doesn’t need drowning in tobacco.” Pete pressed his lips to Patrick’s cheek and planted a loud kiss on his face before pulling away. “I know, thank you. Chicken?”

“Chicken”, Patrick confirmed. As he sat down opposite Pete, already tucking into his vegetable option. “How was work?” It was a thing they did. Insistent on not growing apart and ending up too caught up in their own stuff, every time one of them had been out, the other would ask about it. Another change that had sort of been an accident, but probably one of the better kind. “Good, really, I recorded all of my bits, so I’m basically free until the next season comes along. Or somebody else wants me. Which would be good, I could do with the work.” Pete did his best impression of a sulking face. “What? What is it?”

“I don’t want you to get more work, you spend so much time in LA as it is!” Patrick sighed heavily and his features dropped, making him look almost defeated. It hurt. It reminded Pete a little too much of the Patrick that had wandered into his workplace 18 months ago. “I know. I’m sorry. I wish… I wish I could… y’know, if I was made to choose, one or the other, I’d choose you ever time, you know…. I mean, Pete, you know that, yeah?” he drew a sharp breath and tenderly reached out for Patrick’s hand, ghosting his fingers against the back of his palm. “You shouldn’t… you’ve wanted this, always, you shouldn’t ever give it up.” It hurt to say it, more than it hurt to see Patrick even contemplating it, but he felt it had to be said none the less. Patrick was never as happy as he was when he was making music, ever. Pete had accompanied him to the studio once or twice, watched him create and build and just… shine. He shone. He was a different person. A different person whose world he didn’t fit into. Pete was mainly okay with that, he had his own version of Patrick, after all.

Patrick blinked at him, blonde lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. “No, Pete. I don’t wanna give you up. I don’t ever wanna give you up.” The atmosphere was too serious, too tense. Pete didn’t like it. “Did you just Rickroll me?”

That earned an ugly snort out of Patrick, “no, you moron. It’s `never gonna give you up`” He shrugged. “Close enough. But no, seriously, Patrick, I won’t make you choose. I promise.” The gratitude was visible on his face when Patrick nodded in something close to agreement, “and I hope music never will, either.”

“Nah, music would be too scared of losing you, believe me, you’re good.” Patrick raised an eyebrow at him, but stayed silent as he shoveled a fork full of rice and red pepper into his mouth.

Little did he know Pete had made sure he wouldn’t ever have to make that choice.

 

 

 

If there was one thing that could have been easily deduced, if not common knowledge, it was that Patrick Stump was a fucking kid at Christmas. Patrick loved good food, he loved family, he loved good whiskey, he loved pretty things, he loved music and he loved getting people gifts. Christmas was all of that rolled into one big ball of peace and quiet, accompanied by snow and twinkly lights.

So it came as no surprise when Pete was practically bounced out of bed on the morning of the 25th by an overly-excited five-year-old hopping about as if he’d just discovered Rudolph himself. For lack of a fireplace, Pete had strung up an old pair of his socks and next to them the green and red ones he’d bought especially for Patrick at the foot of their bed, tied to the metal railing. Patrick had already been asleep when his stocking had been filled with cheap chocolate and skittles and the carefully sealed envelope Pete had been guarding for weeks. It seemed like a bit of a flimsy present, with not much to really open, so he’d added some bits and bobs – a record, a DVD he thought would tickle his fancy and a maroon cardigan – and put them underneath.

He was faintly aware of Patrick’s surprised gasp when he spotted the presents all laid out for him already and he thought he registered the door closing, only to open again a few minutes later.

“Wake up, Pete, it’s Christmas!” He sing-songed happily. Pete, in turn, groaned in protest when the curtains were torn open, the snow adding to the blinding light seeping in. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed his suspicions. “It’s 8 a. m., Patrick, fuck off!” He attempted to hide himself beneath the duvet, but it was promptly whisked away. “Christmas is only one day a year, you, you, you weren’t working yesterday, you aren’t working tonight, you have, like, no excuse, get your lazy ass out of bed and here right now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Don’t- don’t, don’t make me come over there!” Pete flipped onto his back with a smirk, “why not, maybe I’d enjoy it.”

“No, you most certainly wouldn’t. I know all your ticklish places!” That wasn’t fair play, Patrick had promised he’d never use it against him, it was his Kryptonite. A scowl crossed Pete’s face as he rolled himself out of bed. Evidently Patrick had left the room before to even out the amount of presents on Pete’s side, because three messily wrapped blue parcels were on his side of the bed. “Oh, Santa came to me, too!” He declared when he spotted them. Patrick didn’t ever glance up at him, too busy traying to guess what the cardigan was. “Mmh, strange, I thought he only came to good boys.”

“I am a good boy! I harboured a stranger, I invited him into my bed!”

“I wasn’t a stranger, Pete, besides, I don’t, I don’t know if it, uh, if it counts when you get sex out of it… Oh cool, thanks!” He held up the piece of clothing in front of him, his thumb stroking across the soft material. It was a nice one, not, like _nice_ nice, but not $10 from H &M either. He swung it around his shoulders and slipped his arms into the sleeves, it fell perfectly over the light grey t-shirt he was wearing.

Pete settled down on the wooden floor next to him and took the first parcel off the pile. It was small and squishy, probably Patrick had gone down a similar route as him when it came to gifts. There were only so many options, after all. And even though Pete greatly appreciated the Metallica shirt, he was pretty certain nothing could top or even come close to what he had for Patrick.

The other two presents were a collection of Dylan Thomas’ poems, something Pete would never have considered buying, but was very happy about none the less, and a box set of the first five Assassin’s Creed games, although he wasn’t convinced Patrick had really known what exactly he’s bought.

And whilst Pete loved tearing through the blue paper and whilst he was overjoyed at the thought of Patrick spending time and money on coming up with good gifts, Pete was still happiest about what was waiting for them both in the little, red envelope.

Patrick had already eaten half a stocking’s worth of chocolate and happily started playing the record he’d got – Pete honestly neither remembered nor recognized what it was – before he realized he still had the best bit to open. Of course, Patrick did not know it was the best bit. Patrick merely presumed it was a card, making his creased forehead all the more endearing as he scanned the letter Pete had composed.

He sat chewing his lip nervously as he watched the blue eyes dart across the paper, then again, then again, before letting it sink into his pyjama-clad lap and staring unseeingly at the wooden slats in front of him. Pete’s brow furrowed as he forced himself to stay calm, panic rising to a threateningly high level. Patrick didn’t say anything.

Pete gulped.

His fingers nervously picking at the floorboards, he tore his eyes away from Patrick, whose mouth was moving without any sound escaping from it. He should have just left it. It was too much too soon.

Patrick’s voice was small when he finally managed to speak again, “I don’t… I don’t want you to… to do this.” A fist clenched around Pete’s heart and squeezed until it was threatening to crack. “I’m, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… it’s too soon, we’re not… we’ve not even been together for a year and-“ he cut himself off when he saw Patrick, who still wouldn’t look at him, shaking his head. “No, no, I- I just, Pete, I don’t… I don’t want you to give up… like, your friends are here…and your job and…. I’m already indebted to you ad, like…. You don’t need to give up your life for… for me, that’s not- it’s not fair.”

A breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding flowed out of Pete, he felt his heart flutter free and a weight he’d been carrying lift off his shoulders. “Patrick, look at me.” His head lifted slightly, his eyes flicked up briefly, but they didn’t hold Pete’s gaze… shame? Was it shame? “Please, look at me.” Finally, baby blues met wide-eyed browns and Pete felt a wave wash over him. “I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, probably a little too much, and I don’t want us to be one of those couples that barely see each other. I don’t want this to become long-distance. Your dreams are in LA, you need to chase them. I’ll be right behind. I don’t have anything here, not really.”

“You have your job.”

“Yeah, I work as a bar tender, some achievement that.”

“It’s a good bar.”

“That I got into because my boss is a closet case and I’m the only gay dude he knows.”

“You have Gabe.”

Yeah. He might miss Gabe.

“It’s Gabe. God knows where he’ll end up. He’ll probably end up owning LA someday.” A small smile crossed Patrick’s face. “Now, I have told the estate agent I’ll get back to him by the end of the week about that flat, but I, uh, kinda need your money to help me buy it. A bit of a shitty present, I know, but you _do_ earn considerably more than me at this point.” It was Patrick’s turn to chew his lip as he stared at Pete. He looked nervous. “Are we really gonna do this?”

Yep, he’d asked himself that question a lot. Ever since Andy had sent him the link to that house, he’d been close to just buying that, until he realized their picket fence might have to wait for when they could afford it in LA. It was a big step for him, he’d never lived anywhere but Chicago, he’d barely even left Illinois. But with his photography gradually turning into a business and Patrick becoming more and more requested, he’d figured actually _moving_ to the city of the up and coming might not be the dumbest step they could take. Besides, it would allow them somewhat of a fresh start, away from the troubles of the past.

“If you’re up for it, I’m up for it, baby.” He paused. Then he nodded. Then he smiled. The grin that split Pete’s face did not subside as they kissed, too many teeth, but that didn’t matter for the moment, not when Pete’s arms were firmly wrapped around the shoulders of the only person that seemed to matter, the person sitting in his lap and quietly laughing, what at didn’t really matter. Not to Pete.

“I was… going to… wait until later…” Patrick muttered between kisses that were gradually getting deeper, “but there’s one… last… thing… for you to unwrap.” Pete’s interested and he carefully touched his knuckles to the strip of bare skin between the grey t-shirt and the loose pants. “Yeah?” he tugged at Patrick’s bottom lip when he hummed his confirmation. He slipped the cardigan off Patrick’s shoulders and it landed in a maroon-coloured pile on the floor. Long fingers found their way further up Patrick’s torso and he groaned quietly as they tweaked his nipple. Pete smiled to himself when he made his hips twitch. It didn’t take long for the grey shirt to join the cardigan. Pete attached his mouth to Patrick’s neck and sucked at the pale skin, pinching it with his teeth, licking over it and sucking again, carefully leaving marks across it at a height he was sure he was going to get in trouble for when Patrick realized he couldn’t cover them with his collar, all the while coaxing the _sweetest_ sounds out of his boyfriend. He was pretty sure he’d be missing quite a bit of hair by the time they were finished, but he didn’t care much. He wasn’t the one going bald.

Patrick yelped when Pete bit down on his collar bone just a little too hard before moving further down so his tongue could join his fingers. A content sigh escaped Patrick as Pete rolled his tongue over a perky nipple, all the while gripping his waist firmly with both hands. “Aren’t you… ugh… going to… to carry on?” Pete firmly, but carefully, bit down when Patrick started complaining after a minute or two. “Quit bitching, Stump”, he growled and smiled to himself when the body now lying beneath him shivered. He took his time on the way down, paying close attention to every inch of bare skin, Patrick’s frustrated whines egging him on until he reached the waistband of the cotton pants. His fingers hooked into it, but Pete froze when they brushed against something… something…

“Oh, fuck”, he choked out when he revealed what was underneath, when he spotted the dark blue lace his fingers had brushed against. Patrick smirked, “not so cocky now, are we?” But he let out a high squeal when Pete roughly rubbed against his dick through the lace. “Did I say you could speak?” Patrick frowned nervously, but Pete felt him harden in his grip, so he figured this was working. Oh, the weird and wonderful kinks of Patrick Stump. He tugged off the pyjama bottoms and flung them behind himself before slotting their lips back together, his body hovering over Patrick’s. He felt and impatient tug at his boxers and chuckled. “Somebody’s desperate.” Evidently remembering the ‘no speaking’ rule, Patrick whined pathetically. “Alright alright:” Pete shuffled out of his underwear and slid back down until he could mouth at Patrick through the panties that did nothing to cover him. He was squirming desperately, trying to create more friction than Pete was willing to give him, still focussed on opening him up and- oh. He frowned and pulled back when his fingers brushed against something hard. Upon further inspection, Pete realized that part had already been dealt with. “Mmh, how long have you had that in for, baby?” Patrick glanced at him before answering, just to make sure he was allowed to talk “since I got up. Thought you’d like it.” His voice was so small and fragile, a quiet husk. Pete nodded appreciatively and pushed against the base of the plug. Patrick whimpered and bucked his hips into thin air as it moved inside him. “Please, please, Pete…”

“Shut up.” Pete snapped. Patrick’s toes curled, but he stayed quiet as Pete turned it a few times before pulling it out. He watched hungrily as it slid out of Patrick, leaving a gaping hole for him to fill. He guided Patrick’s hands down to where his was and instructed him to hold himself open whilst he rummaged through the bedside drawer. But when Pete only came up with the bottle of lube and went to leave the bedroom to get the new box of condoms from the bathroom, Patrick shook his head. “No, no, please, just… come here, please.” Pete paused. He chewed the inside of his lip, considering. It was certainly tempting, fucking Patrick bareback, being inside him, flesh to flesh with no barrier to obstruct- “are you sure you’re clean?” He nodded desperately, his knees hitched up so his fingers could bury themselves in his ass. Okay. Okay, they were doing this.

Pete knelt down above Patrick, uncapping the lube and making sure to use plenty. A bare dick was always rougher than a wrapped one, he didn’t want it to hurt. Not more than it had to, anyway. Patrick whined desperately as his fingers slid out to make way for the blunt head of Pete’s cock pushing against him. He pulled the blue fabric aside and lined himself up. “You sure?” Patrick nodded, his eyes screwed shut tightly. “You ready?”

“Just fucking do it!” that was all the invitation Pete needed and he pushed himself in slowly.

“Fuck, _fuck_ you feel amazing!” Patrick didn’t say anything, just bit down on the inside of his cheek. Pete bent down to kiss him as he started up a steady rhythm, the panties chafing against the side of his dick, but it was hot rather than annoying in that instant. Pete felt sweat pooling between his shoulder blades as he steadily fucked into Patrick. He was being uncharacteristically quiet, whimpering and shivering beneath Pete, but he sure was taking the _no talking_ rule seriously. Pete dropped his forehead to Patrick’s, panting against him as he tried to pick up speed, needing more, needing… needing… he didn’t know what he needed. He didn’t know. All he knew was that there was a tear running down his face and dropping onto Patrick’s before he could stop it. Blue eyes snapped open to find his, filled with concern that only grew when he saw the dampened lashes.

“Are you okay? We can stop”, he offered gently, but Pete shook his head. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted Patrick. He felt soft lips lightly brush his cheek and a thumb stroking over his face, almost comforting, like he needed comfort like he…. Here he was, crying during sex, how pathetic. “it’s okay, it’s okay, Pete”, he sounded so calm and collected, not at all like he had a 5 inch dick pounding into his ass. “I love you.”

If Pete hadn’t felt like a total girl before, he did when he came at those words. Patrick’s breath stuttered as he was filled up, a hand reaching down to wrap around his own cock. Two minutes earlier, Pete would have slapped his hand away, a few minutes later, he would have done it for him. As it was, he curled himself around the small frame, burying his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck as he moaned and groaned his way to a quick orgasm.

Pete knew he’d finished when his body heaved up off the floor and he let out an almost startled cry. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re fine”, Patrick whispered soothingly as he stroked his clean hand over Pete’s back. Maybe they could stay like this. Lying naked – nearly naked in Patrick’s case – together with nobody to bother them and nobody to spoil their world. Pete looked up when Patrick started laughing. “What is it?”

He still felt a little ashamed, but Patrick’s eyes were so soft, he couldn’t stop the smile cross his face. “I can’t believe you cried during sex! When I was wearing lacey blue panties! Of all the times you could’ve picked, man!” Had he been as pale as Patrick, Pete was certain he’d be flushing red at that. “Sorry.”

“Shut up, it was cute.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was.” He patted Pete’s head, “let me clean myself up, though.” Reluctantly, Pete unwound his arms from around Patrick’s torso. He stood up and fished out a tissue from the box on the chest of drawers before pulling the panties off and holding it between his legs. Pete pouted.

“Don’t sulk, if you don’t sulk, they might come out for Valentine’s. If you do, I might give them to charity.” Pete pulled up his nose at the thought of the come-stained, blue material landing in some poor girl’s wardrobe. “Kidding.”

 

 

Pete, of course, ended up cooking Christmas dinner. Patrick helped. Somewhat. It was pretty hard to find something he could do when Pete was afraid of letting him anywhere near the sharp knives. “I can make gravy! It can’t be that hard, can it?” He raised an eyebrow at the naivety of Patrick’s question. “Okay, I take it gravy is some artisan level cooking from your expression.”

“Pretty much.”

“Hm. Okay.”

In the end, he made a few Yorkshire puddings. Pete had never had any, but apparently, they used to be a must at Christmas in the Stumph household. And if even Patrick could get them to rise… “it’s just about the only thing other than cooking pasta I’m any good at when it comes to the kitchen,” he confessed, “there’s a reason you’re the one with the apron.” Pete glanced down at the red and white stripy thing Patrick had bought him on a whim. It was kinda ugly and the _Chef’s kitchen_ was never ever something Pete would want on any piece of clothing ever, but it was from Patrick, so he tolerated it. “You’re on drinks duty if I’m cooking.”

“Fine by me.” Patrick was considerably better at making drinks, anyway, even though he was out of practice. It was something that bothered Pete more than he liked to admit, really.

And although cooking a fucking Christmas dinner alone was somewhat of a juggling act and although Pete spent three hours throwing curses at Patrick sitting on the couch in front of _Home Alone_ and although there had almost been a hospital-worthy crisis involving a bottle of Sherry, a spatula and the Christmas lights Patrick had, unbeknownst to Pete, hung across the room between the dining table and the sofa, once they settled down that evening in front of the TV with Patrick cuddled up in Pete’s lap, Pete felt oddly at peace.

“Y’know, this might be my first decent Christmas.” His over-filled stomach protested as Patrick wiggled around until he was lying on his back, looking up at Pete. “What? Christmas is amazing!” Pete just shrugged. “It was always kinda lonely, I just… it’s tough having no family when the whole world is reminding you how amazing having one is. I dunno.” The way Patrick heaved himself into a sitting position was clumsy and cute, he had something of a baby seal about him. He took Pete’s hand in his. It was cold. “I hate that… you were so alone. I wish I could… I should have come to your shitty bar earlier, man.” Pete chuckled and stroked Patrick’s blond hair gently. He almost looked like he was about to start purring. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’d have wanted to be my friend had you met me any sooner.” Pete wasn’t even aware of the humming most of the time anymore, he only noticed it when it was missing for too long, or when Patrick changed his pitch a little, like he did as he rubbed his cheek against Pete’s palm. “I think you’re wrong. I think I’d have loved you anyway.”

“You didn’t know me. I was… pretty selfish. And kinda vengeful. Took me a while to figure out revenge doesn’t make you happy.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Patrick opened his eyes. By all that was holy, Pete swore he fell a little more in love every time he looked into them. Was he a sorcerer? That must be it, Patrick was a fucking wizard or whatever. “You annoy the fuck outta me sometimes, you know that? You can’t cook for shit and you never clean up after yourself. Not even after that big-ass argument last month.” Patrick’s mouth dropped open in protest, but Pete cut in before he could get a word out, “I think that’s why… why I love you so much I cry during sex. We just… despite our differences, we… work.”

“Yeah, we do make a pretty bomb-ass team.” Patrick grinned and pressed a kiss to Pete’s hand before flopping back over into his lap. “I think I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, fuck.” Pete laughed nervously when the words left him before he could slam the breaks on, but Patrick just smiled. “Careful now, we don’t want you to get too carried away by the Christmas spirit, y’know, otherwise next thing we know you’ll be proposing.” He seemed okay with it, though, and Pete just fidgeted about nervously for a bit until Patrick told him to “keep the fuck still or I’ll sit on the floor next time.”

Between the sparkling lights, the quiet of the outdoors, the snow falling gently onto the windowsill and Patrick snoring in his lap, Pete decided Christmas might not be so bad, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One. More. Chapter.  
> Prepare your assholes I'm about to fuck you over.
> 
> (it really isn't that bad)  
> (I think I promise you guys way too much)  
> (I'm not good enough at writing to make it hurt)


	11. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

It was just an ordinary day. They always were, _those_ days. They always started out ordinary.

Pete left the house before Patrick was up, so he wrote him a note, explaining he was off to meet a client, three kisses, as always. He got the L to Jackson, checked his phone, realized he was too early and went to Starbucks where he ordered a caramel Frappuccino because he was a responsible adult and he could. By the time the barista had whipped up his sugary drink and scrawled _Neil_ onto it, Pete was cursing himself for wasting time. He jogged to the arranged meeting spot, all the while taking the occasional sip of his plastic cup of what was essentially cream. He managed to arrive just in time, greeted his client, agreed on the price for the photos and spent the next 90 minutes shooting the newly engaged couple. He used to mind that sort of thing. He didn’t any more. He was in a committed relationship, more to the point, he was happy in it. He pocketed the cash and explained how his website worked when it came to accessing a private session before heading off to the nearest station. On the way, he happened to walk by a music shop, so he went inside and spent $5 on a pearl pick Patrick could add to the collection of ‘shit Pete buys me because it’s actually useful but I never touch it for fear of damaging it`. Pete smiled to himself as he toyed with it on the train. He was dumb and in love and he smiled at things that made him think of his boyfriend.

That was maybe the worst thing about it. The fact that, in Pete’s mind, everything was fine, everything was more than fine, he was happy, he was excited, nervous, but excited about the prospect of him moving to Los Angeles where he would work as a photographer, where he could live in a nice apartment with the love of his life. Yes, he was using that term. He’d promised himself he never would, promised himself he’d never be that guy, yet here he was.

All the while, as Pete was going about his day, feeling good about himself, Patrick was alone back at the flat, his world falling apart around him. And maybe if Pete hadn’t got that earlier train, if he hadn’t left the house that morning, everything would have turned out okay.

 

 

The first thing that made Pete think something was wrong was the humming. Or rather, lack thereof. He put his bag down and slowly paced into the living area, but Patrick wasn’t cuddled up on his spot on the couch, he wasn’t watching TV or playing guitar or reading the paper. He poked his head round the bedroom door, but it was empty, the bed a mess, as though it had been left in a hurry. With a frown, he turned back and headed towards the bathroom. There was no reply when he knocked on the door, so he opened it. The flicker of the ancient light revealed it to be as empty as the rest of the apartment.

Something was wrong. Pete tried telling himself it was fine, Patrick was just out for a walk, he had just popped to the shop, he was just meeting Brendon. But the voice in his head wasn’t convincing enough. Something was wrong. Maybe it was the way the bed was usually the one thing Patrick kept tidy. Maybe it was his coat still hanging by the door despite the positively arctic temperatures outside that came with it being mid-January. Maybe it was the lack of a note explaining his absence. Or maybe the silence was cutting into Pete’s brain like a knife, twisting his perception. No, something was wrong.

A quick message was typed out to Patrick, meant to be casual but probably not sounding it. Pete made sure his phone wasn’t on silent as he settled down in front of his PS4 and did his best to concentrate on Ezio rather than his unanswered text.

But he couldn’t.

Much as he tried to focus on the rooftop chase, his mind kept drifting, kept worrying.

An hour passed.

Two.

What if he was hurt? What if he was in hospital and nobody knew to tell Pete because he wasn’t his next of kin? What if he was dead in a ditch somewhere?

Three.

What if he wasn’t coming back? What if Pete’s last chance to kiss him, to hold him, to tell him he loved him had disappeared the moment he had left Patrick in bed that morning?

Four.

The door opened.

Pete jumped to his feet, knocking over the coffee table and causing the glass to shatter as it hit the floor. Patrick looked like a deer caught in the headlights as his head shot up to locate the source of the noise.

He was small and pale, his hands were shaking. There was a lifelessness to his eyes all too familiar to Pete, but he’d hoped he’d never have to see it again. Now he was.

He was so quiet.

In three long strides, Pete was in front of him, his hands went to clasp his shoulders firmly, but Patrick tensed the second they made contact. He was breathing heavily, not like he’s just been running, more like something had terrified him out of his wits.

Pete was freaking out.

If Patrick would just _speak_ if he’d just…. Tell him.

His mouth was moving, like he was trying to find the right words to explain himself, explain where he was, explain what was happening, why he was so scared. He was so incredibly scared.

When no noise came out of him, Pete tried to coax his voice, “What’s the matter”, he asked, “What happened, why are you scared?” But Patrick just shook his head and stepped back from him until his back hit the wall between the doors to the bedroom and the bathroom. Tanned hands reached out for him longingly, desperately, but he dodged them. “I can’t… I don’t… I need to get… I need to…” Broken half-sentences fell past Patrick’s lips and floated between the two men, Pete willing more to follow, ones that conveyed meaning so he could try to understand what was happening. He needed to understand.

“What do you need, Tricky, what do you need? Tell me what you need.” Pete stood and stared at the small, pale figure shaking before him. He just wanted to wrap him in a blanket and snuggle with him on the couch, but whenever he tried to move closer, Patrick would start fidgeting.

Somehow, he seemed to manage to calm down so much he could press his palms to his eyes. Pete assumed he was trying to ground himself, he hoped so at least. His t-shirt was already dampened by the outbreak of sweat that had started the moment Patrick had walked in. “I, uh…” He lowered his hands and blinked, trying to clear his eyes, they darted around the room once his breathing had returned to normal until they finally found Pete. He wanted to burst out in tears when he saw the dead stare in those blue eyes. “I fucked up, I really, really fucked up…”

“No, no you didn’t. What happened?” He took a cautious step towards Patrick and when he showed no desire to dodge away, Pete lightly laced their fingers together. Patrick was cold. He was so cold.

“I, I… I went… fuck, I thought… maybe if I could sell the house, I… but she wouldn’t… she just… I can’t do this anymore.” Pete felt his heart blip and tried to tell himself not to lose it over something he didn’t have any context for. He couldn’t jump to conclusions right now, he couldn’t. “Okay, you wanted to sell the house, what happened? Did you go there?” A nod. “What was there?”

A sigh filled the space between them as Patrick clenched his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, the light freckles barely visible even from Pete’s position turning red where his fingers left their imprints. “I wasn’t… I lied to you. I thought it would be okay, but I lied.”

“What did you do, what did you lie about?” He paused, not looking Pete in the eye and focussing on something behind him instead. He didn’t bother to check what, it couldn’t be important. “She… she still lives there”, his voice was small, quiet, Pete barely caught, it, but it was enough. “She? Lives where? Wh-“ Oh. Oh no. Anger, maybe disappointment? No, frustration. “Fuck.”

Something burned in Pete, threatened to burn right through him.

“Yeah.”

“Why… why the fuck-“ his voice was getting louder, he had to stay calm, he had to, “why didn’t you… I thought you kicked her out!”

“I did I said she had to leave within the month!”

“And you didn’t care to fucking _check_?!”

“I was scared, fuck, I was too scared, I’m… I didn’t want to… go back and…. What if…. I’m scared Pete, she scares me!” He was starting to panic again, Pete could tell, his breathing was speeding up. “Calm down, Trick, calm down, you don’t wanna have an attack.” To Pete’s relief, Patrick managed to get it back under control, gripping his arms, digging his nails in as his breathing slowed down again.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad. Well, a little, but it’s okay, we can make her move out, it’s your house, it’s gonna be okay, Trick, we’re getting away from here.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Patrick was looking down at the floor, chewing his lip nervously, his blue eyes unfocussed.

“That’s not all, is it?” a sharp shake of Patrick’s head was accompanied with a tear pearling off his lashes and dropping on Pete’s hand. “Tell me, please, we can work this out.”

Pete’s stomach clenched at the utter hopelessness in his expression, he was resigned, he’d given up. He looked like he had back then, April 27th, when he’d been dragged into the Aviary, head low, practically drowning in his suit, the warmth that usually radiated from him replaced with apathy. Except that had been two days before the picnic, two days before he’d decided enough was enough. Two days before the worst turned into the best.

This felt like the reverse of that. Like they were a negative that had just been plunged into a developer.

“We can’t work this out, Pete.” Something brushed against his hand. Pete stared down at the envelope being handed to him like it was a bad smell. Tentatively, he took it off Patrick, just holding it, staring at the blank white paper. He toyed with the flap, it wasn’t sealed, not quite daring to open it, scared of what it might hold for him.

Fuck this. Fuck it all, he was done second-guessing, assessing and re-assessing the situation. Fuck everything. Pete opened the envelope, reached inside and pulled out…

It took his brain a second to process what he was seeing, the small, low-quality black-and-white picture ringing a distant bell, but not one he’d ever expected to hear, so he didn’t make the connection right away when he saw the little smudge on the sonographic.

Fuck.

His mouth was hanging open, Pete realized after a minute or two of staring at the unborn baby. Patrick’s unborn baby. Was it? It must be… it must…

“Is th-“ he wasn’t there. When Pete looked up to confront him, he wasn’t there.

It wasn’t the humming that led him into the bedroom, the humming had subsided to make way for shaky breaths accompanied by individual sobs breaking through. “What are you doing?” Pete knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. But he wouldn’t let him.

Patrick straightened his back and guiltily glanced down at the open suitcase on the bed in front of him. “Is it yours?” His brow creased before he nodded once, simply, directly. “How can you be sure? Have you had a test?”

“It’s been nearly 9 months, Pete. It aligns perfectly with… with…” Pete didn’t need the end of the sentence. January 17th. He knew what date it was 9 months ago. “What’s to say it wasn’t conceived a week later? Or maybe she was cheating? It doesn’t have to be yours.” He knew he was just bargaining, a small part of him was telling him he was being logical, there was nothing to prove this was Patrick’s child, nothing at all. But his heart knew. He knew.

“You know how much she… what she did to… to keep me. Do you think she’d…” his voice cracked and with it, Pete’s heart. He rushed forward when Patrick’s legs gave out and he dropped to the floor, he caught him and cradled him as he cried. He just cried. Loud, ugly sobs tearing through Pete’s world as his tiny body trembled and shook with the force of them. He did his best to calmingly stroke across the blond hair, muttering soothing words to him, doing his best to give his best. Anything he could give, really.

By the time he looked up, Patrick’s eyes were glassy, he had a glistening streak above his top lip and he looked sick. Pete leaned forward, his hand loosely holding Patricks jaw, and brought their lips together. He tasted salty.

It was okay, it was gonna be okay.

 

 

But then he felt a hand pressing against his chest, gently pushing him away. A frown crossed his face and he searched those ocean blue eyes for answers, hoping he would find what he was looking for there, or maybe he could convince Patrick that they were going to be okay.

“I’m sorry, Pete.” He was calm and that was almost worse. Calm meant he couldn’t be swayed. Calm meant he’d accepted it. Pete sat on the floor, dumbfounded, whilst Patrick got to his feet and continued filling the suitcase with his stuff. He wanted to reach out, to scream, to tear him back down, to stop him. He wanted him to stop.

“We had some good times, eh?”

No, no this wasn’t happening.

“We had a good run, even I have to admit…” the zipper made Pete flinch on his spot on the floor at Patrick’s feet. “Maybe, if circumstances were different, I’d, uh, I’d ask you to be the godfather. That… that would be quite something, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He sounded like he used to. Like he did when they’d first met. Pete had thought he was happy back then, that’s how polished his armour was, the one he was so used to wearing he could just slip into it like it was a second skin.

“Please… no, please…” The sympathetic smile was a stab in the chest. He didn’t need sympathy. God damn, why did Patrick have to be so fucking noble? “Please, we can… co-parenting works, it’s… so many people… they it works, please, we can do… we can do this, Patrick, please, please!” He hated grovelling. He hated it. “Fuck, why didn’t you just… why didn’t you throw her out?” Anger. Anger was better than this apathy. “Why couldn’t you fucking stand up for yourself, just once! This could have been sorted out, Patrick! If you’d just said no that day, if you hadn’t… if you’d just _stayed_ with me! Fuck, you should have come to me!”

Patrick just sighed. A glint of pain shot through his eyes, but he quickly composed himself as he crouched down so their faces were at the same height. “I’m sorry, Pete. You know… you know I…” Can’t. Yes. Pete knew.

“Don’t do this. Don’t pretend like this is okay, _fuck_ Patrick, don’t act like you weren’t just having a breakdown over this! Don’t act like it’s nothing, d-“

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, PETE?!”

Patrick never yelled. Only once, maybe twice before had Pete witnessed Patrick yell. Pete gaped at him, tears finally pooling in his eyes as Patrick breathed deeply, trying to pull himself together. But his armour had cracked. He looked hopeless. “Please don’t make this harder than it is,” he whispered. “I love you, fuck, you know I do, I love you.” He was crying. No, he… he couldn’t be crying. Pete wanted to reach out and stroke his face, kiss the tears away. Had he put them there? Was this what it had come to?

Patrick leaned forward until their foreheads were touching and licked his lips before saying , “You know I love you. I’ll always love you. And we had the best of times. The best. Thank you, Pete, thank you for… for teaching me what happiness feels like.” Pete squeezed Patrick’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing every knuckle. “You’re welcome”, he attempted his best smile, but somehow suspected it never reached his eyes. A little laugh shook Patrick’s body, tearing Pete’s gaze back up to meet his. “Look at us. We’re an odd pair. Y’know, for a second there, I thought we had it made.”

“Yeah.” It was the most he could manage. Not nearly enough to say everything he wanted to say.

All of a sudden, Patrick pulled away, stood up and straightened his shirt. Armour on. Visor down. Except it wasn’t. the cracks in it hawere still there, still visible. At least to him.

“Goodbye, Pete.”

Without looking back Patrick shuffled out of the bedroom, the wheels of the suitcase rolling across the wooden floor, his body heaving with every little sniff he couldn’t hide away beneath his fractured mask.

When the front door swung open, something in Pete woke up, some little voice telling him this was his last chance, his last pathetic attempt to keep the love of his life with him and stop him from condemning himself to pointless unhappiness when there was so much more that could be done if he dropped his principles just for one _god damn second._

Without thinking, Pete shot forward and reached out to catch Patrick’s arm. He felt him flinch underneath his grip, but he didn’t pull away, he only turned his head ever so slightly so Pete could just make out the tip of his nose over his shoulder. Pete’s voice was low and hoarse, laced with tears threatening to fall when he eventually spoke to say one word. Just one. One last attempt.

“Stay.”

For a split second, Patrick hesitated. His arm relaxed in Pete’s hand, the tension dropped from his shoulders. All he had to do was turn around, he just had to turn around and look at him, Pete would wipe away the tears and hold and kiss him until they didn’t burn down his face anymore, until he fell asleep and they dried on his cheeks, only to be washed away in the morning. Pete would make him mint tea and waffles with berries and cream, and they’d sit and watch TV until night fell. They’d go to bed together, fall asleep in each other’s arms, like they had done so many times before, Patrick’s soft, blond hair fluttering under Pete’s breath. Sometime during the night, Pete would wake up, freezing cold, and tut and wrestle the duvet off a sleeping Patrick and remind himself for the hundredth time he needed to buy another one for himself so he wouldn’t die of hypothermia.  
In two weeks, they’d pack the rest of their stuff and run off to LA in an attempt to put all this shit behind them, to start afresh, so Patrick could become the musician he deserved to be and Pete would maybe, just maybe, finally find fulfilment in his job as something other than an old man working at a bar.  
Patrick and Jane would split custody, the kid would live with them for part of the year, they’d take them to the playground and go to feed ducks, maybe go on a trip to Disneyland when they were old enough because that’s what families did.   
When the time was right and things had settled down a little, Pete would go out and, because he was insanely cheesy and clichéd when it came to romance, get the prettiest ring money could buy. He’d take Patrick to their little cabin in Alaska, where they’d had some of the best and worst moments of their lives, or maybe to that spot on Lake Michigan where they’d planted that stupid little palm tree that - somehow – was still alive, get on one knee and ask him to be his.  
They’d get married somewhere nearby, a small do, outside, Patrick’s close family, maybe Brendon and Gabe, Andy could come too and Joe, of course. They’d exchange vows and kiss and slow-dance, eat cake, smile at each other and be happy. They’d go to bed and Pete would get all sappy and make love to his husband until they fell asleep. Their honeymoon would be in Europe, because Patrick had never been. They’d go on a city tour, all the main stops. Pete would take photos for their album and Patrick would spend an absurd amount on records, because _“look Pete, I’ve been looking for this one for ages!”_   
Maybe, one day, they’d decide they wanted some more kids. They would go and find a child that needed a home and give it the best one they could offer, and love and raise it together, making sure nobody got neglected. Pete would be the perfect step-dad for baby Stumph, they’d both do the best they could to give all of their kids anything they had to offer, to give them the best possible childhood. When they went off to college, they’d help them move their stuff, and do their best to pay for anything they needed. They’d hug and kiss them on the doorstep of their new home, they’d cry in the car when the realization that their babies were all grown up hit them, and they’d go to bed that night, sad and worried for their kids.  
At some point, Pete would wake up in the morning and look over to realize Patrick’s hair had gone white and lines were drawn across his face, and he’d get up and look in the mirror to find himself not looking any younger. But it would be fine. Everything would be fine, as long as Patrick was there, he’d be fine, he wouldn’t be scared of growing old. And Patrick would still be the most beautiful thing in his world, maybe even more so, because he’d been there when those lines were drawn, witnessed every one of them slowly spread across his features.  
Patrick would be that type of grandparent that spoils their grandkids rotten when they come, he’d drown them in toys and books, he’d get them tiny plastic instruments as soon as they were old enough and convert them to 80’s funk fans before Pete could do anything to stop him.   
And slowly, the days would get more exhausting, their lives would get slower, but it would be alright, because even if they were nearing the end of the line, at least they’d walked it together. They weren’t alone. They would never be alone. It could be so simple.

All he had to do was turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't so bad, was it? Kinda short, sorry. 
> 
> I actually cut off the original ending but if any of you know Casablanca, you know where this was going, I just fancied leaving it open hue hue.  
> It'll be weird not googling Casablanca quotes every week....  
> Anyway, I'm working on my next fic or those of you who may be interested, I'll post it when it's finished, I'm not making the mistake of thinking I've nearly finished and then adding 7 more chapters again uh uh.   
> See you around, folks.   
> Comments are greatly appreciated :)


End file.
